


Invisible Connections

by yokomya



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Detectives, Fluff and Angst, Hackers, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t believe that guy took out our hits. He didn’t even shoot one of them, how is that possible?” Iggy grimaced, speaking to nobody really.</p><p>“I guess there are guys better than us,” Colin mumbled, tossing his gun between his hands.</p><p>“Nobody is better than us,” Mickey declared, hand tightening over the badge.</p><p>Ian Gallagher, huh?</p><p>Had a nice ring to it, Mickey thought, shoving the piece of plastic back into his coat as he followed his brothers under the cover and silence of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody is Better Than Us

It was a humid Chicago night and there was hardly a soul on the docks or a cloud in the sky. The only sound breaking the silence was the rippling of the dark waters beneath the creaky wood.

Three men strolled on the dock, all dressed in long coats and hats that hooded their faces. The man walking in front and the one in back were carrying guns while the man in between them simply had his hands dipped into his jacket.

The man falling behind, the one with the curly blonde hair, was looking around, cautious and paranoid. He got stuck in the back of the group and he never let his eyes rest as they went back and forth between what could be behind them and what could be in front of them.

The second man was in front and he was the tallest of the three, also the most broad, his hair dark blonde and clipped shorter. He was tapping his gun against his shoulder and he seemed completely bored by this whole situation.

The one in the middle had dark hair and light eyes, the opposite of the other two. His gun was shoved into the back of his jeans and he was surveying the area, mildly fascinated. When something caught his eyes, he made a note of it, and then resumed his attention elsewhere.

“I don’t know how many fuckers we’re dealing with but don’t get too fucking relaxed,” the stocky one in the front said to the other two, his voice drifting over the slow current of water beneath their feet.

“There can’t be that many can there?” the blonde one in the back choked out, pivoting his head frontward.

“I don’t care how many guys are on that boat. We take them out and then we get the money. That’s fucking it,” the middle one smiled slightly, eyes dark.

“That’s exactly your fucking problem, Mickey. You don’t care what the fuck is going on. You just go in guns blazing,” the front man snapped, his gun tapping getting quicker on his shoulder as they neared the boat at the end of the dock.

“Yeah and that’s how the job gets fucking done,” Mickey countered, stopping as the one walking in front of him did.

“If you two shitheads want to get pulled in by the police, that’s on you. I’m not risking my neck any more than I have to.”

“I don’t want to go to jail again, Iggy,” the man in back whimpered slightly and this caused Mickey to turn on his heels and grab him by the shirt.

“Nobody is going to fucking jail. You need to start getting your pussy shit together before you come out with us. I’m tired of your whining.”

“Mickey, stop, that’s getting us fuck nowhere,” Iggy said and added, "hurry and do your fucking thing so we can get this over with."

Mickey dropped his hand, moving so that he was walking in front of Iggy now.

He then whipped his phone out and tapped against the screen, his eyes and fingers moving quickly. There were lines of numbers going across the glass, as he flicked his thumb over it. It was as if invisible wires reached out from the palm of Mickey's hand to the ship ahead and in seconds, the lights on the boat went out. 

He looked up, proud of his work, and put the phone back into his front pocket. 

“Colin, do you still have that flash bang?” Iggy asked, eyes on the curly haired boy.

"Don't you think they're going to notice that somebody cut the lights?" Colin asked back as he retrieved the black can, fumbling through his coat. 

"They'll be confused and running around like roaches to figure out what happened. We have surprise on our side."

Colin nodded quickly and handed the flash grenade over. Iggy swiped it and turned around, his eyes widening.

“Fuck, Mickey’s going inside! I’m going to bash his skull in for this later!”

The two ran across the dock and reached the boat to which Mickey already disappeared inside of. Iggy and Colin shoved open the door but they were met with two hallways instead of Mickey.

“For fuck’s sake! That kid is dead when I find him,” Iggy hissed as quiet as he could. Colin stood behind him, peering out the door one last time as he shut it.

Mickey wandered, keeping his eyes peeled for any movements in his peripheral but so far the coast seemed clear as day. His footsteps were light over the royal blue carpeting and Mickey wondered how the inside of a fucking boat could look more comfortable to live in than a house. Not that where Mickey lived could really be considered a house but this was ridiculous.

He backed against the hard paneled walls once at the end of the hall and listened carefully for noise in the next room, moving stealthily, ready for an attack. Good thing Mickey had amazing night vision because there was barely even moonlight coming in through what little glass was on this ship. 

Swiftly turning the corner, Mickey pulled his gun from his back. This room was empty but it was much better lit since the moon hung in the sky through the large open window in front of him. He let out a tense breath and his adrenalin went down. Fuck, where were these guys? As he went forward, he stopped, feeling the tip of a gun in his back.

Holy shit.

Sure, Mickey wasn’t the most careful hitman out there but how the fuck did he get snuck up on? Nobody could fucking sneak up on Mickey Milkovich, not with his keen ears and eyes and sharp sense of surroundings.

Fuck, this was a bad situation. Alright, he would disarm this guy, good fucking idea.

“I wouldn’t try it,” a voice said behind him, low and firm. A hand jerked Mickey’s gun from his side and threw it behind them, out of reach.

“I thought there would be more of you but I guess you’re just that fucking good,” Mickey sneered, mind racing. “Do tell me how the hell one man is running an entire drug cartel and why you have such a high bounty, I’m real fucking curious.”

The man holding him at gunpoint said nothing and in one quick movement Mickey was shoved face first into the wooden walls, his teeth clashing against his cheek painfully. His hands were pinned behind his back with such force that Mickey had to bite his inner cheek not to make any sounds. He wouldn’t give this guy anything to boast about.

“Are you fucking alone or not?” Mickey shouted against the wall, angry and humiliated.

There was still that concern in the back of his mind about his brothers on the boat. If there were more guys, his brothers could handle them, no doubt about that, but Mickey had to know for sure.

“Just me,” the guy said quietly but before more conversation could be made a gunshot fired and echoed in the room.

In that instant, Mickey’s attacker loosened his grip and Mickey jabbed his elbow out into the guy’s ribs, putting as much strength into it as he could.

“Took you long enough,” he barked at Iggy who waltzed straight up to the man on the ground to pistol whip him across the face.

“Who the fuck is this?” Iggy yelled hoarsely, reaching down to grab the attacker’s chin.

Mickey brushed himself off and looked down.

The man on the ground was red headed, a bright, vivid shade of red that Mickey wouldn’t forget, and he had soft features for a man, although there were sharp angles etched into his face as well. He wasn’t as small as Mickey but he didn’t look as big as Mickey was expecting, considering the force Mickey just survived.  

“Who,” Iggy said, whipping him with the gun again, “the fuck are you?”

The red headed man staggered when Iggy let go of his face, waiting for a response. Mickey knew his brother was brutal but rarely did he see him so livid, so curious about the enemy.

“What the fuck happened?” Mickey demanded and Colin rushed into the room then. Iggy grabbed the attacker’s face for a second time and gave him a hard look.

“The fucking drug lord and his underlings are all strung up cozy together on the other end of the boat. In handcuffs,” Iggy glowered.

“What?” Mickey asked, still not understanding.

“Listen to me, Mickey. The guys we were ordered to kill are all in handcuffs in another room on this boat. They aren’t dead but they sure as hell aren’t conscious. Now, tell me, who the fuck besides a hitman, a really fucking good hitman, can do something like that?”

“Don’t pile me in with you,” the red head spoke up, wiping the blood from his lip. Iggy snapped and hit him again, standing up and turning away so he could control himself.

“He subdued me,” Mickey admitted, still shamed by it but feeling better after hearing this new piece of information.

“Why would this guy not bother killing them?” Colin wondered from where he was standing, looking down at the attacker.

Mickey decided he would be the one to break the ice. He reached down and pulled the red head’s jacket open, revealing a shiny badge. His eyes scanned over it and he almost laughed.

“The police? You’re a fucking cop?”

“Private Investigator,” the redhead grumbled, staring back at Mickey, unafraid.

“You kidding me? Hey, you guys hear this? He’s a detective,” Mickey laughed, shoving the attacker backwards. “Ian Gallagher, huh? That’s your real name?” Mickey inquired, eyes on the badge now in his hand.

“We came to kill these assholes so let’s get it over with,” Iggy barked, leaving the room.

“What about him?” Colin called, racing after his brother.

There was a quiet as Mickey turned his eyes over to the detective who was gathering himself on the carpet.

“You can take a punch, I’ll give you that,” Mickey told him, watching him wipe more blood off his cheek.

“Don’t act like you had the upper hand the whole time. If it weren’t for your boys-”

Mickey knocked Ian back with a hard kick to the stomach and watched as he coughed hoarsely, his hands trying to put pressure on the new injury. After observing him for a moment, Mickey learned down again, arms dangling between his crouched knees.

“If Iggy is impressed by your work then you must be pretty fucking good. You’re really a cop, huh?”

Ian didn’t even look at him and just swiped at his mouth again, trying to get air because Mickey had knocked it out of him.

“Well, I have to say, I’m impressed with you too. You caught me off guard and I don’t get caught off guard, Gallagher. See, Iggy is a reasonable guy and doesn’t give a shit if someone does our dirty work for us. Me, not so much. Give me one reason not to shoot your brains out over the carpet.”

Ian finished wiping the blood from his jaw with the sleeve of his shirt. He glowered at Mickey coldly.

“Because you can’t.”

Then Mickey’s legs weren’t holding him up anymore and he was pinned to the ground, both of his hands held above his head by just one of Ian’s own. Ian used his other hand to find his pistol from the floor and shove it against the underside of Mickey’s throat.

“Make a sound and we’ll see who’s brains get scattered on this carpet,” he said, straight faced. Mickey couldn’t help but notice how non threatening he sounded, how unsure he was about killing another person. He also couldn’t help but notice how attractive this detective was once they were up close and personal.

“You fucking do this for a living, Gallagher? Get bad guys like me all hot and bothered?” he asked, smirking up at Ian’s now confused eyes.

“I catch crooks like you,” Ian spat at him and pushed the gun further into Mickey’s skin. Mickey wasn’t afraid in the slightest.

They heard gunshots ringing out from across the boat and Ian froze, eyes widening.

“That’s my brothers for you. You wanted to catch those bad guys, did you? Too bad there are even worse guys out there, like me,” Mickey smiled up at him, not even bothering to get out of the hold.

Ian stared back at Mickey and that toughness he was trying to show was wiped off his face. His fair eyes were sad and unwavering, like he lost something important just now. Mickey watched the way Ian’s face went from determined to pained in three seconds flat and then Ian’s gun was out of his throat and he flew up off the floor.

“If Iggy sees you, you’re dead,” Mickey smirked, sitting up. His words didn’t matter though because Ian already fled.

Mickey hummed to himself. Chasing down this Gallagher guy wouldn’t do anything and it had nothing to do with what he was hired for. They were getting paid to off this drug cartel by a rivaling business and that was all. Nothing more, nothing less.

Iggy and Colin returned as Mickey was standing up, ready to get the hell out of there.

“Where the fuck is that kid?” Iggy growled and Mickey shrugged.

“He up and went.”

Iggy’s eyes went wide like saucers and he shoved his gun into his pants and bent over to pick Mickey’s up for him.

“What? Should I have ran after him?” Mickey scoffed, taking his gun and putting it into his back pocket.

“You could have done something that doesn’t involve having us do all the work,” Iggy shot back, leading the way off the boat.

When they were outside, Mickey stretched and glared at both of them.

“I hung back in case that bitch tried anything. You were the one who was shitting yourself over what he could do.”

“Yeah, which is precisely why you shouldn’t have let him get away.”

Mickey decided to drop it, not really caring to put energy into this right now.

“I can’t believe that guy took out our hits. He didn’t even shoot one of them, how is that possible?” Iggy grimaced, speaking to nobody really.

“I guess there are guys better than us,” Colin mumbled, tossing his gun between his hands.

As they got off the docks, checking the area for onlookers, the three brothers left the scene as silently as they came.

Mickey fell back this time, keeping watch, and he took something out of his pocket. It was the badge of that cop, detective, whatever the hell he was.

“Nobody is better than us,” Mickey declared, hand tightening over the badge.

Ian Gallagher, huh?

Had a nice ring to it, Mickey thought, shoving the piece of plastic back into his coat as he followed his brothers under the cover and silence of the night.


	2. Frisky

“I’ll have a White Russian,” the old man who entered the bar said, placing his suitcase on the table.

The Milkovich bar wasn’t exactly the ideal place to go buy a drink, unless you were a criminal or so drunk that you wandered into the wrong side of town.

Iggy was wiping down the counter but stopped upon hearing the gloomy voice.

“Upstairs,” he ordered under his breath and the man swooped up with his case, walking by the counter until he was ascending the hardwood steps to Iggy’s right.

The upper level of the bar was much less dingy than the lower level, even if it was still so dimly lit that you probably just couldn't catch how many traces of dirt and bodily fluids were around you. The man took his hat off when he saw a spot of dark red under his shoe. He squinted down at it, put off.

“You going to stand there all day or what?”

The man rose his head to find a pair of cat like eyes watching from the other side of the room. It was just a kid, he couldn’t have been hardly more than mid twenties. The man crossed the distance separating them, trying to ignore all the junk lying around, and focused solely on the boy sitting on the bar stool.

He took his seat at the counter and the boy brought his eyes up from the smartphone in his hand, cracking somewhat of a smile.

“What’s so funny?” the suited man asked, placing his case back down. There was something uninviting in that smile and it twisted his stomach.

“Well, I thought you might be some politician wanting to kill off your mistress before the scandal got out but looks like you're not even married.”

“Excuse me?” the man wondered, rubbing his chin.

“Thompson, forty three, no girlfriend or wife,” the boy said, pulling a leg up on the chair.

“That’s right,” Thompson answered, not sure how else he was supposed to respond. In fact, it was his first time in this kind of situation and after seeing the dried blood on the floor earlier, he didn’t know if he should still be here at all.

“Sorry this place is such a mess. We haven’t had the chance to sell the valuables," the kid brushed off, tapping on his phone even though his eyes were on the old man.

“What’s your name?” the man asked suddenly, completely interested in this kid.

“That’s not exactly the kind of relationship we’re about to have or how this works. See, I ask you the questions-”

“You’re so young and you do this kind of thing a lot?” Thomspon asked, feeling sorry for him.

“Mick,” Mickey answered nonchalantly, “Now fucking get it through your skull that I’ll be the one getting the details. You want a job and you’ll get your fucking job if you sit real nice and quiet.”

“Have you ever killed a man, Mick?” Thompson continued, not feeling threatened enough to stop. Mickey shot up from his chair and snatched the man’s collar in his hand, eyes wild.

“Listen, you old fuck, do you want us to kill your son or not?”

The old man seemed shocked by the out burst so Mickey let go and rubbed his face, breathing in.

“Fuck, this is why I told Iggy to do this shit!”

They were both quiet until Mickey hopped over the counter to retrieve an old bottle of some kind of alcohol. He didn’t offer any, just gulped on it like it would disappear if he didn’t, and then slammed it on the table.

“Look, I’m not a fucking client talker. Stop making this so much harder than it needs to be,” he said, clenching onto the bottle. Then he leaned over the counter and bit his lip.

“Your son has been stealing money from your bank account for years now but instead of contacting the police you’re contacting us. You must not give two shits about him.”

“He’s my son, of course I care-”

“Don’t give me that candy coated bullshit. You’re a greedy bastard. How do I know? Well, you won’t tell the police about it because you’re dipping your own grubby hand into the company’s pocket and you can’t have them finding all that illicit shit, can you? Maybe your son already knows about it and that’s why you have to shut him up for good.”

Mickey laughed and took another drink out of the bottle, wiping his mouth over his knuckles.

“Instead of having a nice father-son talk you just want to kill him. I can’t imagine why you haven’t gotten father of the year.”

“Mickey!” Iggy hissed from the top of the stairs. He went across the room and grabbed the bottle out of Mickey’s hand.

“You know better than to stick your fucking nose where it doesn't belong. It's none of our fucking business why he wants to kill who he wants to kill so shut the fuck up. I’m taking it from here.”

Mickey raised his hands in defense and then went around the counter to leave.

“I told you that I would do it my way, Iggy. Have fun murdering your son,” he called out to the old man on his way out.

 

Ian folded his hands behind his back and straightened up the second the police chief came into the room. He gave Ian one glance before he sat in his chair and took a long sip from his coffee mug.

“What is it, Gallagher?”

“I need a new badge, sir,” Ian answered, shifting when the police chief rose his eyes.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“It kind of got swiped,” Ian admitted nervously.

“It got swiped? You’re telling me that a couple of street thugs were able to swipe your badge?”

That was the thing. This man had no idea what went on last night, on the docks, and that the three hitmen he was confronted with weren’t even close to the average thug. Nor were the men from the cartel.

Of course, Ian was never assigned on that boat last night. He had to remind himself that the police chief's strict orders were to bring in a couple of easy convicts, which Ian did before the little boat expedition.

“We didn’t find your badge on the two guys you brought in last night, Gallagher.”

“It happened on my way home,” Ian lied. He really wasn’t the best liar but after doing it for three months, he was getting there.

“Did you get robbed? You didn’t file a report,” the chief said skeptically and set his mug down.

“I dind’t see his face. You know how those kind of reports go at the CPD.”

The police chief looked like he wanted to ask more questions but he let it slide and pulled out some paperwork.

“Here, fill this out for the badge. I can't believe you let yourself get taken down like some intern," he muttered and then after another drink from his cup he said, "Now, I have more business with you, Gallagher.”

Ian took the papers off his hands and folded them neatly, listening.

“A couple of gang bangers are hulled up in a house on Alexander. I need you to bring these guys in by tonight.”

Ian nodded. He took the fat wad of cash from the chief’s hand before he was dismissed.

Ian left the station in distress. Not only did he get nowhere last night because of those guys that rolled up on the scene, clearly hired assassins, but he got his identity stolen. It wasn’t until he was back in his apartment that he realized the badge was gone, a stupid mistake.

He also had to clean himself up and resort to using his roommate's makeup to hide the number that blonde one did to his face. There was no way the chief would have believed the thugs he brought in, before the mess on the boat, could do that to him.

Ian was paid under the table sometimes to investigate or take down street rats. Just because the chief was so determined to clean this city up, he hired all kinds of people who weren't cops to do the dirty work.

Ian also did some jobs on the side for people who knew his name but he stayed off the grid if he could help it. While locking up bad guys was a good perk, it seemed less important these days. He had a bigger catch on his mind.

“You look like you could use a night out with the guys,” his roommate said as soon as Ian came in the front door of their shared apartment.

“What guys, Mandy? Pass me a beer?”

Mandy smiled from her spot on the couch and cracked open the can she already had for him before he came home. When Ian fell into the sofa next to her, she stopped writing in the notebook on her lap.

“You want to tell me why you looked like a train wreck last night?” 

“I can’t talk about work with you, Mandy, you know that.”

“For my own safety,” she sighed, “I know, but I’m not allowed to worry?”

“Sorry,” Ian said sadly. She reached out and touched his jawline, wiping some of her own makeup off of it.

“You can’t fool me.”

“That's why you should become police chief,” Ian laughed and that at least got her to smile.

 

Mickey was beyond pissed off, so pissed, that he left the Milkovich bar and forgot to pack heat. Fuck, he was already blocks away now. Luckily most of the guys on this side recognized a Milkovich when they saw one and wouldn’t dare pick a fight with him.

Mickey continued his walk, Iggy called it needing a breath of fresh air whenever Mickey stormed off, but it was just something to do so he didn’t go crazy. He was pretty sick of being holed up in that fucking bar all hours since business wasn’t booming so great right now.

“Hey, Milkovich.”

Mickey stopped and looked back. There were four guys loitering in front of one of the shabby shacks, you couldn’t really call it a house, and boy if they weren’t the grimiest looking guys Mickey had seen today.

“We want to talk to you,” one of them said, trying to beckon him over with a hand gesture.

“If you want to chat you know where to go,” Mickey shot back, thinking these guys must be new to this business. How did Iggy deal with this shit all day? Guys who couldn’t keep their mouth shut and had the gall to ask Mickey for a hit, on a public street, really got on his bad side.

When Mickey left, he could hear them following him, all the way up the street.

Well, this was fantastic. The night he doesn’t have a gun on him is the night he gets stalked by a couple of pushy customers.

“Told you where to go,” Mickey growled out, loud enough for them to hear, but it didn’t stop the footsteps.

Mickey wasn’t exactly the greatest fighter, though he could hold his own if need be. It didn’t him make him any less irritated that he was getting tailed by these guys though. 

“Look fuckers-”

When he turned, one was lunging at him and he moved out of the way.

“What the fuck?” Mickey spat out, punching one across the jaw that was trying to get behind him. As another came from the side, Mickey ducked away and slammed his elbow into the man’s back, watching as he fell to the floor. A third guy rushed up to him and when Mickey landed a kick to his kneecap, he bent over with a cry.

“Hold it!”

All went still at the sound of the authoritative voice.

“Get on the ground, hands behind your head,” the voice said and then there was the click of a gun being cocked. Clearly unarmed, the four men that were trying to jump Mickey knew the procedure and went to the dirt and grass.

Mickey put his hands in his pockets and looked back, a smile coming to his face when he did. It was that attractive red headed detective, his gun now pointed at Mickey.

“We have to stop meeting like this, detective. People might talk.”

“Get on your hands and knees, _now_ ,” Ian told him, hand steady.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Mickey chuckled but did as he was told.

As he listened to Ian sling cuffs on the other men, Mickey waited for it to be his turn.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad getting hauled in if it means you have me all tied up,” Mickey smirked, feeling Ian hovering over him. Ian grabbed his wrists roughly and snapped the metal on, a lot tighter than Mickey expected. He then jerked Mickey up by his hood so that he was sitting up and left his side.

“You went a lot rougher on me, I’m flattered,” Mickey laughed, keeping his eyes on Ian as the redhead took his phone out and texted what Mickey could only assume to be the rest of his squad.

"Didn’t know you cops were so new age.”

Ian ignored all of Mickey’s bantering and moved the men on the ground so that they were sitting side by side. He kept his finger on the trigger of his gun and stood just close enough in proximity so that he could shoot if necessary.

After a few minutes, Ian moved up to Mickey again and grabbed his jacket, searching him, while he had his gun pointed at the other men.

“You could have just asked if you wanted my clothes off,” Mickey smiled in delight and Ian cursed under his breath when he was done looking.

“Where’s my badge?”

Mickey blinked at him and crossed his legs, tapping his fingers against each other.

“Loosen these a bit and I might remember.”

Ian crouched down and met his eyes.

“Tell me where the fucking badge is,” he repeated lowly. The sound of sirens went off a few streets away from them.

“You don’t even know how nonthreatening you are,” Mickey grinned in response and for a split second he thought Ian would hit him but he didn’t, he just backed off.

“My brother is itching to blow your head off, after what you did the other night, and now he has your name and a copy of your face. He can’t stand being shown up, you know, he’s quite competitive. I would sleep with one eye open.”

That was all a lie really. Mickey kept Ian’s badge under his mattress, just for safe keeping, and Iggy didn’t even mention the detective since the night on the boat.

The cops showed up then and shoved the others into the cars, after asking them if they knew their rights.

“I wouldn't have guessed you were a gang banger,” Ian said coldly as one of the cops lead Mickey up to the cop car. Mickey glanced back and raised an eyebrow.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Ian turned away without answering and Mickey was pushed into the back seat to be taken to the station.

 

Mickey waited in the interrogation room for hours and when the door swung open, a curvy black woman and a chubby white man were revealed. They sat down in front of Mickey, both ending some kind of debate, obviously not caring what Mickey’s ears picked up.

“What? No glass of water?” Mickey asked, raising his cuffed hands in annoyance.

“Now, why would I give a guy who likes to rape teenage girls something like that?” the man asked, fist clenched on the table.

“I wouldn’t give a guy like that water either. Good fucking thing I don’t rape little girls, huh, family guy?”

“Tell me,” the man went on, leaning up so that he was staring straight at Mickey, “how long have you lived in that neighborhood?”

“Couldn’t tell you. What I can tell you is that my throat is like a middle eastern sandstorm right now,” Mickey retorted and that set the woman off.

“What’s your name?” she asked angrily but the white man put a hand on her shoulder. It calmed her features long enough until she got another look at Mickey's face.

Mickey coughed on purpose and held his throat dramatically. The white man hit his fist against the table and got up to leave the room, returning with a cup of cold water.

“Your fingerprints aren’t in the system,” the woman said as Mickey gulped on the water. He sighed out in delight when he finished but dropped the cup last second, spilling what was left on his pants.

“Oh, shit,” Mickey murmured dully. The lady squinted at him.

“That means you’ve never been caught for a crime before.”

“It also means you couldn’t find shit on me, right?” Mickey asked, smiling, and leaned back in the flimsy chair.

“You don’t have a record and your face isn't identifiable,” the man grunted, slapping some photos on the table. Mickey glanced down at them and pursed his lips.

“Those are the fuckers who tried to jump me.”

“What’s your name?” the woman spat out. Mickey shrugged.

“If I tell you, would you really buy it?”

“Your boys already confessed the names of the girls you guys raped. It’s time to join them and maybe we’ll shave off some of your sentence,” the man offered, pushing the pictures closer to Mickey.

“I didn’t fuck any little girls,” Mickey barked, void of that cockiness from before. He sat up, mouth twitching.

The woman and man stood up and left the room, leaving Mickey to himself. Once outside, the woman crossed her arms.

“Who is this kid? He doesn’t have a history, a birth certificate, nothing.”

“He’s not talking and he’ll be tough to crack,” the man responded, looking at Mickey through the double sided mirror. Mickey looked up at where they were standing and even though logically, she knew he couldn’t see them, the woman shivered.

“We’ll nail this son of a bitch. We’ll get something on him.”

 

Ian finished dinner with Mandy and stripped his shirt off so he could get some much needed rest. As he dropped down to the bed with a heavy sigh, his phone buzzed. There was a new text message. He opened it, expecting the police chief but it was an unknown number.

 

_You should have frisked me more carefully, Gallagher._

 

Ian stared down at the screen in confusion. This phone had high security so nobody should have been able to get his number without him knowing about it. He typed out a reply, feeling his heart race.

 

_Who is this?_

Maybe this was his lucky break and it was a message from the guys he had been hunting for the last few months. Did they find out he was on their trail? It didn’t matter at this point as long as Ian could get some information. That thought broke when another buzz rang out.

 

_You’re a pretty rude fucker for leaving me waiting in these handcuffs so long. Come find me if you want to get a bit more serious about our intimate time._

 

Ian’s stomach dropped as he reread the words three times. He instantly dialed a number on the phone, putting it to his ear.

“Chicago Police Department,” the woman on the line voiced out.

“Hi, can you direct me to the chief? This is Ian Gallagher.”

“Of course,” the lady said, recognizing Ian's voice.

“Gallagher? I told you to call my line directly for emergencies,” the police chief mumbled, sounding in a bad mood, once they were connected.

“This isn’t really an emergency exactly. I wanted to know what happened to the guys I brought in a few hours ago. The gang bangers?”

The police chief went quiet and Ian knew that wasn’t a good sign.

“Four of them are in cells, already fessed up to their crimes. One of them, well, he didn’t talk.”

Ian waited because he heard hesitance in the chief’s voice.

“We didn’t have much on him anyways but we could have found out in the seventy two hours we could have held him. Dammit, if only we got that long.”

“What do you mean if only you got that long?”

“The kid is gone, Gallagher. He gave us the slip.”

Ian gaped and shook his head, not understanding.

“Nobody saw him leave and the camera footage was all screwed up, I’ve never seen anything like this-”

“He got away? He just walked out without a gun or anything?” Ian breathed out, shocked. 

“Look, he was just some gang banger. We’ll find him and catch him just as fast as we did tonight. I don't know what tricks this guy knew but he sure as hell won't be getting away scotch free. You should have seen how arrogant this asshole was, Gallagher. I'm not letting him get off.”

Ian’s blood boiled at the news.

“I have to go, chief. Call me when you find something out.”

“Will do, Gallagher.”

They hung up and Ian started typing on the phone so fast, he thought he might crack the screen.

 

_How did you do it?_

It seemed like ages even though it had to be less than minutes when his phone vibrated and the new message popped up.

  
_If you want to ask personal questions, better treat me to fucking dinner first, detective._

 


	3. Hungry for Information

As soon as he met eyes with Ian Gallagher, Mickey knew that he was going to the police station.

So in lieu of a better idea, he crouched down as Ian instructed and while huddled on the ground, kept an eye on Ian frisking the other men. Mickey had no fucking clue why he was getting a gun pointed at him or what these guys did but the redhead looked determined to make sure they weren’t going to do it again.

Apparently, Ian misread the situation because Mickey didn’t do a goddamn thing. These grunts were the ones who attacked him, weren’t they? Too bad getting arrested in this neighborhood, along with the fact Ian caught him at a cartel scene before, meant he couldn’t exactly run off. Even unarmed, guys like him were always just a short ride in a cop car to jail, doesn’t matter if you didn’t do shit wrong.

It would have been easy to type out a quick text to Iggy about the situation but Mickey didn’t, he chose to hack into the closest police station’s security footage on the phone instead. He had to make sure the fuckers would be jammed at the time he needed them to be. It just took a calculation of the time it would take to drive to the station, wait, chat to the interrogating officers, and get out. And he did it all in his head and on the phone he was keeping out of Ian’s sight.

The detective was almost done cuffing the last man and it was sort of a quick decision but Mickey did a couple extra coding to crack into Ian’s phone too, getting the number. That was also for safe keeping.

Ian came up behind him then so Mickey discreetly put the phone away, even though it would be taken at the station, and let himself be cuffed. Iggy always said Mickey was too careless when in fact Mickey had a habit of making things overly complex.

Fate was pretty cruel to decide that out of all the shit Mickey’s been involved with, all the stuff he never went to jail for doing like Iggy and Colin did, he was being taken in for no reason at all now. Oh, the irony.

But it didn’t matter. He was going to break out of the police station, when the time came, even if he didn’t have to since the police wouldn’t be able to find him on the map. Mickey made sure to wipe himself off of it a long time ago.

Ian was feeling him up now. Mickey liked teasing this guy, something he didn’t do normally, at least not like this. There was something innocent about the detective that he wanted to screw up. Ian’s face may have been hard while he worked but Mickey could see a vulnerability there as he did his job, something lost on the cops Mickey grew up getting tailed by.

Another weird thing was that he liked the detective’s hands on him. Funny, Mickey couldn’t stand someone putting their hands on him.

When the cops came, Mickey was pulled away from Ian. He would instantly be ushered to the station and have his phone taken, talk to some low ranked cops for a while, then he would sneak out, unrecognized by any cameras, retrieve his phone, and be gone.

It wasn’t too hard to walk around unnoticed once you got the damn handcuffs off.

In the interrogation room, Mickey let the bobby pin slip from his sleeve like an old magic trick once those annoying as hell officers left the room. It’s too bad Ian didn’t get all his clothes off, like Mickey suggested, otherwise he might not have gotten away.

He tapped out a few messages to Ian once he got through the back door and was safe on the streets, blending into the rest of Chicago. 

Iggy would have called him a stupid fuck for making so many unnecessary risks but Mickey would disagree. They weren’t risks unless you got caught.

Plus, this way, Ian Gallagher would have something to think about for the next few days.

After leaving the station, Mickey went straight home to the bar. He was pretty excited about his day, finding fun in all the danger he put himself through for the day. Everything was just so dull, he had to hype this shitty thing called life up every now and then because nobody else was fucking doing it for him.

One thing did still bother him though and that was the fact Ian Gallagher thought he was a fucking rapist. Fleeing the scene might not have been the smartest thing after all if his name wasn’t cleared. Fuck, he didn’t consider that.

Mickey took his phone out and typed out to Ian like they did this all the time. He was confident that even if Ian took his number to the police, they wouldn’t be able to trace Mickey’s phone. He took care in making it untraceable and protected, in a way that dumbass cops didn’t have the smarts to do.

 

_I’m not a kid fucker, a rapist, or any of that shit. Get that straight, Gallagher._

Mickey put the phone away and took as many shortcuts as he could, avoided busy streets, until he got back to the Milkovich bar. When he walked through the door, Iggy was cleaning up, and Colin was passed out drunk on the floor. There were still a couple of regulars having a good time at the window. They all happily greeted Mickey as he entered.

It was as if Mickey didn’t just get jumped, arrested. Like breaking his way out of holding with some digital coding and stealth tricks didn't happen either. There was no point talking about it because everybody was too drunk, not Iggy, but he didn’t want _that_ fucking lecture.

“Get me whatever the fuck will knock me out,” Mickey said, sitting on the stool in front of the counter.

“That would be everything,” Iggy snorted.

“Shut the fuck up and pour, bitch.”

Iggy made his brother a drink and then eyed him as he downed it.

“You good, Mick? You look like shit and even three in the morning is pretty late for you to come trotting back in.”

Mickey didn’t have time to answer because he felt a vibration in his pocket and whipped it out.

 

_If you aren’t a rapist, who are you?_

“Cutting to the chase, huh,” Mickey smirked, tapping out his response. Iggy seemed concerned but just poured another shot for him. Mickey was glad this Gallagher could use fucking English like a human being because Mickey refused to type out little emojis and teenage girly shit. His finger tapped the send button and he raised the glass to his lips again.

 

_Depends on what you want me to be._

Ian’s response came fast.

 

_Not a gang banger, not a killer, and not a thief. How many of those can you check off?_

Mickey finished his shot and left Iggy silently, making way for his bedroom upstairs. His bed was a sorry excuse for one, shoved up in the corner and tiny, but at least it wasn’t dirty like his brother’s.

Gallagher seemed to be taking an interest in him and fuck, Mickey wasn’t going to deny that he didn’t want a little spotlight from the fucker.

 

_I’m one of those. Want to take a wild guess at which one?_

 

He waited patiently but it took Gallagher longer to reply. Mickey tossed his shoes off and fell back on the sheets of the bed. At least he had a room to himself and could shut the door so Colin and Iggy wouldn’t bug him. The phone buzzed so Mickey looked down.

 

_Killer._

Mickey smiled and tapped back.

 

_Aren’t you going to go to your higher-ups, red? You should track me down after my little escape earlier._

The response message popped up quickly.

 

_But you’ll tell me more if I don’t, right?_

Oh, this guy was better than Mickey thought. He felt excited, eagerly texting back.

 

_Hot and smart? Pretty good package going for you, Gallagher._

Mickey rubbed at his eyes, surprised at how tired he was getting. Iggy must have given him something strong. He blinked when Ian’s reply came up.

 

_Those ‘higher-ups’ informed me that they didn’t have anything on you so why did you run?_

Mickey sighed at how dull the question was and answered.

 

_You ever had to sit in a tiny ass room, under blinding light, for hours on end? Not to mention question after question like it’s my fucking fault you guys pulled me in without evidence or cause._

When he read what Ian texted back, Mickey could almost feel his hostility.

 

_Your brothers murdered a dozen men. How is that not cause?_

Mickey raised his eyebrows, feeling a lot more awake when he realized what that meant. He typed back a much longer reply than he intended.

 

_But you didn’t tell them about me and my brothers, did you? You took me in on gang affiliation. Now that you know I had shit to do with those assholes, you should be threatening to pin me for the cartel murders instead. Keeping it our little secret, detective?_

Mickey waited through his fatigue but Ian never replied. Deterred, Mickey put his phone under the mattress by Gallagher’s badge and then passed out.

 

When good old Terry, the head of the Milkovich family, showed up the next night, Mickey froze in his seat. Everyone greeted Terry like he was king of the world, showering him with hugs and banging glasses together as if he was back from war for christ’s sake.

Mickey stayed in the shadows, in the corner of the bar, keeping his head low so he wouldn’t attract any attention.

Colin and Iggy got along great with their father, able to joke and carry on as fathers and sons were supposed to. That kind of relationship never happened with Mickey.

He was the small kid, which automatically ruled him out as being the weakest in Terry’s eyes, and that was how the asshole’s anger fall solely on Mickey. He endured the physical beatings as much as a kid could but the emotional trauma was another thing. His dad didn’t praise him the way he praised Iggy or brush his mistakes off the way he did for Colin. Mickey was the Milkovich runt and might as well have been a bastard kid too.

As tear jerking and worthy of an Oscar as the story was, Mickey wouldn’t pity himself for it. He wasn’t going to hell because a dirty drunk beat the softness out of him. He was still Mickey Milkovich, tough as nails, and good at what he wanted to fucking be good at.

One of those things he happened to be good at was another disappointment for his father. That was computers, technology, cracking and hacking. He didn’t know how he got so fucking good at doing it but give him a phone or a laptop and he could blow the city power out. Well, in a sense.

Turned out that being the smartest Milkovich known to this Earth worked in the family business favor. Robbing banks was never easier and getting through security systems, home invasions, any job could use a bit of Mickey’s godlike touch.

Speaking of godlike touch, he wouldn’t mind those godlike hands of Ian on him right now, massaging this fucking stress away as he sat through his father’s sermon about family and honor. It was all piss and shit.

Family? Honor? There was no such thing as family, not for the Milkovich’s. At least not for Mickey. Even though Iggy watched out for him and Colin sucked up to him, those two wouldn’t take a bullet for Mickey. They wouldn’t go to prison for Mickey.

It was every man for himself when they were on the field and then when they were home, it was like they were all living an arm’s length apart. Everyone made sure not to get too close or too involved with each other. Things were fucking better that way, Mickey liked to think.

Mickey caved and slid out the backdoor, into the alleyway, hand gripping his phone hardly. His fucking dad didn’t even spare him a hello, not even a wave.

He didn’t know what he was proving by doing this but Mickey hurried to send a message to Ian Gallagher, just having the need to fucking let someone know he was here.

 

_I’m not a killer. I’m a thief._

It was a stupid thing to write, now that Mickey was reading his own words. What was he proving by admitting to that? Proving that Colin and Iggy were always the ones to finish the job because Mickey didn’t have it in him? What was he writing this detective for anyways? If he wanted to pass the time, he could find plenty else to do. Not that it was working out so far in his shitty life.

Ian didn’t write back so Mickey got angry and kicked over one of the garbage bins in the alley. It was muffled out by the laughter inside the bar. As soon as he reached his foot out to topple over another one, the phone buzzed.

 

_I know._

What the fuck did that mean? Mickey grimaced and hit the glass of his phone harshly to respond.

 

_Why the fuck did you pick me out as a killer before then, jackass?_

The laughter inside was getting obnoxiously louder so Mickey made way out of the alley and stood closer to the street. Ian’s message popped up under his thumb.

 

_You’re a hitman but you don’t do murders? Ring any bells?_

Mickey snorted, unable to believe Gallagher just teased him. In reality, it probably wasn’t a tease in the slightest, but Mickey could pretend. He was also in awe at how formal this guy was, keeping this little conversation as professional as possible.

Well, Mickey was the convict here and Gallagher was itching to have him locked up. He typed back, glancing back and forth on the street like the cops were going to show up any second.

 

_Thought you didn’t want to be ‘piled in’ with bad guys like us, Gallagher? You might play the hero by putting guys in jail but we make sure they’re gone for good. Doesn’t that keep the goddamn prisons from overcrowding? As for me, I’m more of a - take what doesn’t belong to me - kind of guy, got me?_

 

Mickey smirked to himself and added another message before Ian could reply.

 

_That includes fiery redheads._

Ian’s responding message came up and Mickey scoffed.

 

_That’s all bullshit. You kill good men. If you want me to take you to the station so bad just give me an address and I'll be happy to come get you._

Mickey typed back aggressively, mouth tightening. He stopped and let out a needed breath before finishing it off.

_Don’t be a dumb ass. The only address you’re getting from me is a one way ticket to a motel so we can get to know each other._

 

Oh, fuck, Mickey didn’t know what he was doing.

In the twenty three years he’s been alive, he fucked more times than he could count, but not once did he try to flirt. Never did he overstep that boundary of casual sex he grew accustomed to. There was just something about this Ian Gallagher that fascinated him. The risk and danger of him being a cop could be what did it for him, even if cops were sacs of shit. That, or those smoking eyes of his.

 

Ian felt nervous reading and responding to all the messages that kept appearing on his phone. All from that unknown number.

Mandy still wasn’t home from her night shift at the coffee shop so Ian took up the couch for his night off. He shouldn’t have been spending said night off chatting with this creep.

The scary thing was that Ian knew almost nothing about this guy except he had a thing for turning every sentence into a pick up line and that his line of work was as bad as it came.

But when Ian looked into this guy’s blue eyes, that night on the boat, as those gunshots rang out behind them, he saw something flicker. It wasn’t joy at the sound of men being brought to their deaths. Ian had experience with plenty of madmen and even hitman, he knew what the eyes of a person who killed for a living looked like.

Either they took pleasure, were completely emotionless to the killing and treated it the way any job would be treated, or they showed some sign of grieving. This hitman was none of those things. His face scrunched up just the slightest, almost disgusted, at the sound of people being murdered in the next room.

No killer could last that long in that business with that kind of response. So, there was no way that this kid was a killer, even if he was part of the trade.

It sitll puzzled Ian how this one guy got out of a police station undetected and got a hold of Ian's number. As much as he hated to admit it, Ian was really curious about him, even if the guy was a low life.

When he ran into him and his brothers on the boat, he assumed they were part of the cartel and maybe could have something to do with the guys Ian was after for the last few months. But he couldn't be sure anymore considering they offed the drug lord in charge. Who the hell knew what happened in those kind of networks though. Maybe these hitman were sent after the drug lord by another boss.

Ian sighed. He wanted to find out about this group and this hitman was his only real shot right now. All other research and connections were leading to dead ends. Literally.

He typed back to him, feeling hollow and hungry for information. So far this guy didn't seem opposed to Ian's questions, considering he was the one to contact Ian in the first place. Maybe he could inch his way to a clue. 

Ian had to if he wanted a chance at catching these fuckers. He rubbed his face and took in a shaky breath.

He had to if he wanted to save Lip.

 

_Okay, no address, but can I get a name?_

Mickey looked down at the message which finally popped up on his phone. He bit down on his lip. Earlier, telling that old man, the client Iggy took over, his name was a mistake.

He was so angry it just kind of came out at the time. Well, there was no way of Ian finding anything on him based on his name so it couldn’t hurt. It seemed like the detective also had his reasons for not going to cops.

Mickey let his fingers tap out the one thing Ian wanted and then he retreated back inside.

  
_Mickey_.


	4. Loyalty

These bushes were itchy as fuck, Mickey thought angrily, trying his best not to make too much movement. It was really fucking hard not to mention every second it seemed like something was either crawling on him or rubbing up against his arms. That and the fact it was the dead of night in the middle of July so the cicadas were loud as fuck and the air was thick and hot, making him sweat under his T-shirt.

That thought was broken by his phone buzzing. He picked it up in a split second.

“We’re at the back entrance and there’s two guards,” Colin’s voice echoed on the other line, hushed but sounding loud breaking the silence.

“Where’s Iggy?” Mickey said, not keeping his voice very low himself since he wasn’t quite as in the heat as Iggy and Colin were at the moment.

“Ah-” Colin’s voice broke off and there was a silence. Mickey quieted too, knowing someone must have got into Colin's proximity. After a few heartbeats of quiet, Colin came back on the line.

“These guys are armed as shit, Mick.”

“Then disarm them,” Mickey growled, wishing he wasn’t the one stuck in the goddamn bushes, watching from afar.

The house he was staring at from his vantage point was big and well lit but even with the endless amount of windows covering the outside, they were all fogged over so it was impossible to see what was happening inside. This place wasn’t as tight on security as some of their jobs but it sure wasn’t easy disabling the security cameras and alarms to get in.

“Is this fucking poison ivy?” Mickey breathed out by mistake, seeing the rash forming on his arm.

He could hear Colin breathing heavily and there were some grunting noises, as if Colin just ran a mile or jumped over a building.

“Mickey, I’m at the left wing. The light on the door lock is red, man.”

“Give me a minute,” Mickey grimaced and used his real phone, not the piece of shit mobile at his ear, to find the door Colin was talking about. It wasn’t Hollywood or anything, nothing incredible was happening at his fingertips, but Mickey managed to break through the digital locks and walls on the door.

“What color is it now, Colin?”

“Blue.”

“Hurry and get the fuck inside then,” Mickey said harshly. He knew Colin was seconds from getting busted if he didn’t get a move on things. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to see Colin going to jail again, it would just leave more work on Mickey anyways.

Damn, this situation wasn’t going as smoothly as they could have hoped. Sure, the Milkovich brothers were good at what they did, but sometimes they had some communication issues. If only they could have all been born on the same wavelength, had the same mindset, anything would have helped.

The client who came in asking for a White Russian this morning sure had a job for them. It was the same guy from before, the one who got them to bust up the drug cartel on the boat, and he was just as thorough about the details and just as generous with the money.

This time he wanted them to bust another cartel, one a bit more hidden. This part of town was unknown to all of them, completely on the outskirts, but they had no trouble finding it thanks to this client providing a personal driver to take them there. He must really want to get rid of these cartels.

At first Mickey assumed this man was a drug lord himself and his aim was to off the competition but after a few more encounters he wasn't so sure. This guy seemed too shifty, too jittery, not quite the character you would find leading the drug business. A job was a job though so Mickey had to remind himself not to get involved, or that was just Iggy in his head.

His finger on his phone itched to find a little something on the man but he fought the urge. Sometimes being naive wasn’t a bad thing, he told himself.

While Iggy and Colin had a trigger finger, that was for sure, they knew not to bring attention to themselves and avoided the guards, going straight stealth this time. Mickey stayed back to get all the security locked down, hidden in the shadows. Like he didn’t do that enough in his daily life. Iggy really insisted him hanging back this time, saying something about how more men would be more risk and distraction, and really why the hell did Iggy bother doing jobs if he was always worried about the damn risks?

Mickey typed away, watching his phone with focused eyes. He broke into more of the locks in the house, disabling as many as he could, as timely as he could, without getting detected by any protection these guys had against hacks. Seemed like they weren’t really prepared for it though. Good, most guys like this weren’t prepared for Mickey since they had so much ammo shoved up their ass they never thought about security breaching.

“There’s a safe,” Colin whispered suddenly and Mickey jumped. He forgot they were still on the line.

“I didn’t see a safe,” Mickey muttered, going to his smartphone, dragging his finger to look at the blueprints.

“It’s big and it’s here. Think you can get us in?” Colin asked happily. Mickey chuckled.

“If Iggy knew about this he would shit.”

“Isn’t that why we should do it?”

“Hell yeah,” Mickey smirked, already searching and finding the safe in their weak ass system. It was a piece of cake putting in the code to crack it open.

“It’s all yours,” Mickey said proudly. There was a sound of something creaking heavily and then Mickey could practically feel Colin stuffing himself with what Mickey could only assume to be money.

“Think our client will mind us doing a little window shopping?” Colin chirped.

“Just be careful,” Mickey snorted and then winced at how Iggy it sounded.

“Aw, you do care, Mick.”

“Fucking hurry or I’ll lock that motherfucker back up and I won't  visit you in prison if you're caught, by the way.”

“You visited last time, liar,” Colin huffed out, still obviously stuffing his pants. “Shit, I need to start bringing bags to these kind of missions.”

“Colin,” Mickey said suddenly, serious, his eyes flickering up. There was a shadow along the side of the house, creeping up on the guards, and it was going so quick that Mickey had to rub his eyes.

Mickey squinted because even though his eyes were perfect in the dark, it was hard to tell what the hell was going on at this distance. After a few blinks, the guards he could make out from this angle were now crumpled on the ground. Mickey’s mouth dried and his brain started to run in circles.

“Mickey?” Colin voiced out, the heavy creaking of the safe door closing being the only sound between them.

“Stay on the line, man,” Mickey urged, edging forward from his place in the bushes. It felt silly being stuck out here, after distorting the camera data, but he couldn’t draw attention from the guards. Now, however, it felt even sillier, considering those guards were lying on their backs.

“I’m on the upper level, Mickey,” Colin retorted, obviously trying to reassure Mickey he was still there. Colin’s breathing went stiff and Mickey moved out of the bushes, closer to the house. He didn’t know why but his body was going on it’s own, away from where he was ordered to stay planted.

“There’s a few guys in here, Mick. I’m going to take them out. I’ll call back when I’m done.”

Mickey couldn’t respond and the line went dead. He felt his breathing shallow out as he got closer to the house and even though Colin hung up, he didn’t let the phone slide from his ear. He reached the guards and hovered them cautiously, seeing that each and every one was passed out, knocked out rather.

That’s when he saw that their wrists were bound, by wire. His eyes shifted to the entrance. It was wide open as if someone just strolled in. It couldn’t have been Iggy because Iggy wouldn’t have given away their position so easily. There was no way of knowing if Iggy and Colin were taking out their hits or not yet. Mickey felt so in the dark that he stuffed both phones in his pocket and retrieved his gun from his back.

He neared the inside of the entrance, pointing his gun left then right as he went inside, and then in front. Noiseless, he made way forward through the house, keeping his breath under control. That was when his ears picked up on some sounds coming from behind the first closed door he came upon. There were coughs, grunts, shouts, and then nothing.

Mickey was hesitant behind the door, unsure of what was happening. He kept his gun up, just in case, but when the door opened and he was met with another gun, his finger stilled.

It was probably the most idiotic thing he ever could have done. Mickey’s first instinct wasn’t to pull the trigger. He didn’t shoot.

That meant he was dead.

“I told you that you weren’t a killer.”

Mickey was practically a fish out of water because there stood Ian Gallagher, with the barrel of a Smith & Wesson at Mickey’s nose. Mickey didn’t even have time to register his next move because Ian disarmed him, quick and painless, and then he stepped back, his own gun still at Mickey, and Mickey’s gun now sliding far down the hallway.

“What? No crummy pick up line, Mickey?” Ian asked dully, waiting for Mickey to speak. Mickey just stared, unable to communicate.

Oh, that’s right, he told Ian his real name. Oh, shit, that’s right, he told fucking Ian Gallagher his real name.

“You won’t shoot,” Mickey dared, finding his voice, but it was annoying how soft it came out.

“I don’t have time for this,” Ian glowered and he pulled some wire out of his jeans.

Mickey ran then, turning the corner of the hallway which must have caught Gallagher off guard. He raced up the staircase and swooped so fast that he wasn’t even being careful to be quiet, forgetting all about the fact he was in enemy territory, dangerous territory.

Then his phone buzzed and he took it out, glad to hear Colin.

“I killed five, Mick. According to our guy, there’s ten more?”

“Yeah,” Mickey answered breathlessly, side hopping into a dark open door, eyes shifting wildly in the dark. Lucky for him it was just an empty bedroom. He closed the door behind him, careful not to make noise, and then he slid under the bed, his voice low.

“Colin, I have to tell you something,” Mickey whispered but his brother wasn’t listening.

“Mick, I found some of the other guys. I’ll be back.”

There was the click of Colin hanging up and Mickey cursed. He couldn’t call his brothers and risk their safety now. Fuck.

If Gallagher was going around taking down the cartel like he did nights ago, he might not have trouble doing it to Iggy and Colin. Although, Iggy gave Gallagher quite a run for his money last time, if Mickey remembered correctly. It didn't change the fact that this was not a good situation.

It was almost laughable that not even twenty four hours ago, Mickey was shooting off texts to the same guy who might ruin this whole operation. No, no way could he do that. Maybe he took those guards out but he wasn’t taking Mickey out, not Colin or Iggy either.

Mickey slid out from under the bed. He had to think of something. He couldn’t just hide like a scared bitch while Iggy and Colin did all the work. Mickey raced to the door and waited, listened for sound, but he jumped when his phone buzzed, his smartphone. Looking down at it, Mickey’s eyes widened.

 

_Come quietly and you won’t get hurt. I promise._

What the hell was Gallagher accomplishing by telling him this? Oh, sure, Mickey would love to just come spend the rest of his life in prison, surrounded by assholes who would love to make him their bitch. No thanks.

 

_What the fuck are you doing here?_

He settled with that response and bit his nail. Mickey was all for danger but this was all turning to shit right now. Please, let Iggy fucking call. Apparently Gallagher didn’t have a chance to return any messages right now since he was so fucking busy taking out their hits, again. Great, this detective was nuts out of his mind.

First off, the police didn’t do this kind of shit, especially not solo. They didn’t just go take out entire cartels for the hell of it. What the fuck was happening here?

Mickey closed his eyes to think and he decided to stop being a fucking pussy and get out there. He pushed the door open and checked down each side of the hall. Once convinced he was alone, Mickey made his way closer down the opposite direction which he came. He finally reached a big empty room that looked like a dining hall. This house was pretty fancy for a drug cartel, Mickey couldn’t help but think, just like that boat, and he cleared the floor to the next room.

As he inched the door open, his heart leaped into his throat when he saw a head full of dirty blonde hair.

“Iggy,” Mickey whispered into the silence and Iggy’s gun turned on him so fast that Mickey was sure he was dead for a second time. He didn’t know what was wrong with him tonight. Seeing Gallagher’s shadow outside spooked him so bad that he couldn't keep his cool.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Iggy hissed out, keeping eyes peeled for any activity nearby.

“That detective is in the house,” Mickey responded immediately and he felt stupid saying it. Like he was announcing some great threat but in reality it was one cop.

“What?” Iggy asked lowly, seeming more concerned by the fact that they were sitting ducks in this hallway.

“He took out the guards and he took my gun. I don’t think he’ll shoot though,” Mickey explained in quick breaths. Why was he panicking so much? Never did he feel this in danger before now.

“I’ll take care of it, fuck,” Iggy growled and he jerked Mickey closer to him, keeping his gun in front of the two of them.

Mickey hated it so much, being protected like a child. Ever since he really was a child, Iggy seemed contented on keeping it that way, always the one to make Mickey feel small and helpless. Even if Mickey was unarmed, he felt angry knowing that his brother wanted his reliance on them staying safe.

Two shots rang out. Mickey first thought was that Iggy must have seen someone until he saw Iggy fall over. Mickey was confused all of two seconds until he rolled on the ground and grabbed Iggy’s gun, pointing it in the direction of the shots. When he had the gun up and his eyes tried to focus, he was knocked back in his face and the gun was out of his hands. Everything was blurry and spinning and he reached numbly out to Iggy.

“Iggy,” he called out but then there was a glock in his mouth and his voice was gone.

Shit, he screwed up again. It's all he ever did was screw up. Iggy was down and now Mickey was down all because he didn't shoot to get them out of danger.

Another gunshot echoed. Mickey's eyes remained on Iggy, even through his disoriented vision, he could make his brother's frozen face out. This was it, Mickey was shot in the head, and now he was done.

His fingers twitched but rather than feel a bullet rip through his body, the gun in Mickey’s mouth slipped out and a body slumped down and hit the floor with a thud by his side. Mickey blinked around rapidly and his hand found Iggy’s wrist so he had some kind of connection to the world.

Then Ian Gallagher was crouching next to him, rolling the body of the man at Mickey’s side over and checking for a pulse. Mickey felt like he could barely see Gallagher but he didn’t miss that pained expression cross his face, the way it did when Gallagher heard Iggy and Colin murder the other cartel.

“Iggy,” Mickey broke out, turning on his side even if the physical shock from getting punched so hard in the face was still making him scatterbrained.

“He’s not dead,” Gallagher told him, his fingers suddenly on Iggy’s neck. “They shot him in the leg but he’s fine. He must have blacked out when he fell-”

“Iggy!” Mickey shouted, getting hysterical. Whatever Gallagher said was lost on his ears as panic settled in from seeing that his brother wasn't moving. Mickey wobbled as he sat up and moved to his older brother’s side, shaking him. His body didn’t seem to want to stay up but Mickey fought the urge to fall and kept shaking Iggy, eyes watering.

“He’s okay,” Gallagher assured, in a surprisingly gentle tone. The room started to spin less slowly and Mickey’s vision wasn’t as double anymore after a few minutes. He breathed in and out rapidly, his hands still on Iggy’s shoulders.

Ian didn’t try to move Mickey away but he was suddenly at Iggy’s leg, tying a bandage around his bloody knee. Mickey stared in horror at the scene of his brother being patched up, like he really needed it, like Iggy wasn’t going to ever recover.

It was so stupid to react so violently to this but Mickey’s brain wouldn’t keep up with reality. He had been shot and he had seen his brothers get shot before, plenty of times, but being struck so hard in the face really fuzzed his brain.

“Stay here,” Ian ordered and then he was gone.

Mickey stared at him leaving and then at Iggy and his brain was finally starting to put things into place. Mickey turned around and touched the unknown man on the ground at his side, heart quickening. The man was dead. This man must have been the one to shoot Iggy and the one who was about to pull the trigger into Mickey’s mouth. That was until Ian showed up and shot him.

Mickey checked Iggy one last time and confirmed that he was breathing, mostly just sleeping, and then he stood up.

When his phone buzzed, he answered it instinctively and heard Colin coughing.

“I took them out with the tear gas and killed them. They’re all dead now, Mickey. Has Iggy called yet?”

Before Mickey could answer, there was a lot of muffled noise coming from Colin's end and a gunshot, then the sound of some kind of struggle. All went quiet and then Ian’s voice was on the phone.

“Stay there, Mickey.”

“What the fuck did you do to my brother?” Mickey yelled hoarsely and he threw the phone, storming across the house. He blindly went anywhere, wherever his legs would take him. It didn’t take long to find Ian, surrounded by all the dead bodies, Colin’s doing, and then he saw Colin sitting against the wall, eyes shut, hands tied behind his back.

Mickey lunged at Ian, knocking him to the ground and then they were rolling, grappling, and panting.

“You’re fucking dead!” Mickey stormed, his hands going to Ian’s neck but Ian pulled away from the grip and hit Mickey with accuracy somewhere in his neck, making Mickey's eyes bleary. Mickey felt dazed as Ian got off of him.

“Both of your brothers are fine, unlike the guys that aren’t breathing on the ground next to us,” Ian told him, his hand finding Mickey’s face so he could force his eyes up. Mickey groaned, nauseated, because this was the second time his body was acting like it was on drugs.

“Why do you guys keep showing up? I need them alive,” Ian said desperately, like Mickey was supposed to understand.

Mickey blinked up, feeling hazy from whatever pressure point Gallagher hit earlier.

“I won’t be able to help Lip if you keep making dead ends,” he went on, almost laughing. Seemed like Mickey wasn’t the only one in hysteria.

After a few minutes of pondering, Ian tied wire around Mickey’s wrists and helped him to standing. He then pushed Mickey to the exit door. Once Mickey finally recovered, he turned to hit him. Gallagher was faster and manhandled Mickey’s arms back behind his back, leading him endlessly forward. They got outside of the house and Mickey kept struggling but Ian didn’t let up.

“Get the fuck off, man! My brothers-”

“They’ll be fine.”

“You mean in prison when you call your boys? Get the fuck off!”

Ian stopped them once they were farther from the house and when he let up, Mickey almost ran, but Ian grabbed his hood, holding him in place.

“Stop,” Ian commanded, trying to hold Mickey in place. He grabbed his face so they were eye level and Mickey stopped panicking, freezing up from the touch.

“I just want to talk to you for a minute so calm down, okay?” Ian tried softly. Mickey sucked in air and looked between Ian’s eyes. They weren’t looking so smoking right now. They scared Mickey because Ian had so much control of this situation. Whatever this fucked up situation was.

“Why are you guys going after these cartels?” Ian asked, voice still even and gentle, but he was having trouble saying what he wanted to say. It didn’t make sense but Mickey had no choice but to say what he could or Iggy and Colin were going to jail for life.

“We were hired,” he said simply, trying to show Gallagher he was being honest with his eyes.

“I believe you,” Ian said, like he was reading his mind, and then asked another question.

“Who’s hiring you to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey answered instantly, so wrapped up in getting back to his brothers he would answer whatever the detective wanted. Iggy would hate him for it.

“So you have no connection, no idea what’s happening with all this?” Ian asked, voice trembling slightly. Mickey nodded and Ian’s hands on his face eased up on the pressure.

“If I don’t call my guys to pick your brothers up, will you come with me?” Ian asked lowly, still keeping his eyes on Mickey’s own.

Mickey stared at him, felt the warmth of Ian’s hands on his cheeks, felt Ian’s breath ghost over his face, and he really didn’t know what to do.

Iggy and Colin were okay inside and somehow he trusted Ian saying that. It was that reassurance that nobody in his life had ever given him. Nobody ever made him think things would be okay and he was always going out blindly, ready to die any moment. That was until today when he realized that his loyalty to Colin and Iggy were much stronger than he knew because the thought of them dying had almost ripped him apart.

“Not to the station,” Ian clarified suddenly, rubbing Mickey’s face soothingly, “I just need you to come back with me to my apartment, okay? I know you said that you don’t know anything but you’re connected to the guy doing this and I need-”

“What the fuck?” Mickey breathed out, unable to think of anything more coherent to this situation but Ian didn’t look deterred.

“I promise I won’t take you to the police and your brothers will be safe, Mickey. I need you to come with me though, you have to come with me,” Ian pleaded and it looked so conflicted. It was like he couldn’t believe himself for doing this but he was doing it anyways, for some important reason that was being put above all else.

“Why?” Mickey shot back, still sounding too soft for his own liking. His heart was hammering thinking about Colin and Iggy laying in there, defenseless. Then the gears started working in his brain. Mickey tried to grab his phone until he remembered his hands were bound by Gallagher’s wire.

“Trust me that they’ll be fine,” Ian dodged, biting his lip.

Mickey never trusted anybody but his own blood and flesh and the two unconscious men in that house.

“I don’t want to threaten you but you know what will happen if you decide not to do this,” Ian sighed, “Don’t make me resort to that. I need your help and you need mine.”

“We don’t need your fucking help,” Mickey said icily, that ingrained response to not trust anybody kicking in.

But the feeling of Ian’s warm hands against his face calmed him back down. Mickey wasn’t the one in control here, was he? He pulled away from Ian’s hands and lowered his eyes. What the fuck could he do? He was the runt of the family, unable to kill to save himself and unable to fight one guy to save his brothers.

So he would sacrifice himself, go with this Gallagher, earn his keep somehow to his brothers in his own way.

“I’ll cut Colin's wire and check Iggy's wound. They’ll be fine when they wake up in a few hours,” Ian offered, walking backwards, waiting for a signal from Mickey to indicate this was happening.

Mickey glanced up and held his gaze for just a moment before he nodded and lowered it again.

Ian was gone and back so quick that Mickey was shocked to see him running back up to him, his black coat flying behind him.

They shared a small exchange of eye contact and then Mickey was whisked away to Ian’s car, which was hidden pretty far from the house. After climbing inside, Ian gave one last look at Mickey, apologetic, and then he revved up the engine and they were on their way back to the city. 

 

 


	5. Taking Mickey Milkovich Hostage

Mickey might as well have been in a cop car even if this car looked like it was taken out of a junkyard. His bound hands were a constant reminder that he was, in fact, with a cop and not back at South Side, doing weed in the back of some guy’s dirty car.

Neither him nor Ian spoke the entire way.

Ian stopped at a gas station parking lot suddenly and pulled some bandages from inside of his coat. He used his teeth to tear it and then he reached out to put it over Mickey’s eyes. Mickey flew back and hit his head against the window.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Ian said, “I have to blindfold you. You can’t know where I live.”

Mickey was about to say that he could find anything out if he wanted to and if he had the right time and resources but Ian was tying the bandage over his face, interrupting that thought.

“You fucking think I give a fuck about where you live?”

“I’m sorry,” Ian apologized again and it was weird to hear the detective so quick to make amends for what he was doing, considering Mickey was a criminal and Ian shouldn’t have thought of him as more than dirt.

The humming of the engine shushed them both back into silence and then Ian was driving them again.

After almost half an hour of driving, the car engine died and Ian got out, shutting the door. A second passed and Mickey’s door opened. He felt Ian’s hands touch his arm carefully to guide him. It wasn’t rough like before at all, it was loose and Ian was being sure not to touch Mickey anymore than he had to.

Mickey listened, he smelled, he tried to use his other senses to find out where they could be. Based on the time spent in the car, they were still in Chicago, and all the traffic sounds around them meant they were definitely in the inner city.

Ian helped him up countless flights of stairs and then they stopped and Mickey heard the jingling of keys and unlocking. When Mickey was pulled inside and Ian shut the door behind them, cutting off all sounds outside, there was a tense silence.

Maybe Ian was going to torture him or some scary serial killer shit that you would see on a crime show. This was such a joke to be stuck in some cop’s apartment without a fucking gun or even the use of his goddamn hands.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make a one liner about the blindfold,” Ian murmured, a small smile in his voice, as he removed the bandage from Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey stiffened his jaw because who the fuck was this guy to tease him in this kind of situation? He was fuck knows where, about to have fuck knows what done to him, and that’s all he could say?

“You can sit,” Ian tried again, a little more unsure. Mickey stayed where he was, eyes fire at Ian who seemed to take the hint and went to the couch to grab a closed laptop.

“So glad she isn’t home,” he muttered to himself and turned the laptop on, coming back to where Mickey was standing.

“This is going to be hard standing up,” Ian sighed, trying to balance his laptop on his hand while typing with the other.

“Getting hard already, Gallagher?” Mickey asked automatically, a smirk on his lips, but as soon as it came out he dropped his face, inwardly strangling himself.

Ian’s eyes darted to him and he smiled, like he was relieved by the comment and that pissed Mickey off to no ends.

“Obviously I couldn’t find anything on you,” Ian got down to business, trying to open up some loading web pages. “But after hearing what my boss said about the cameras being distorted when you left the police station and well tonight-” he paused and looked at Mickey again, “the security of that drug cartel was all shut down, broken into rather-” he stopped again and cleared his throat, “an idea came to me.”

He seemed to be having trouble with the laptop and went back to the couch, clicking a few times. Mickey stared from where he was, watching how hardly Ian was trying to fix whatever problem was going on the computer. It was really hard to watch because it was such a fucking easy fix but Ian was doing everything but what he needed to make the error stop popping up.

Mickey's teeth were grinding so he crossed the distance of the living room and could see the monitor better.

“Are you fucking serious? Open your fucking task manager,” he glowered and Ian looked up at him in surprise. He was quiet while, tacking away on the keyboard, and obviously had no clue what he was doing.

“Take this fucking thing off right now,” Mickey ordered, raising his bound hands, face going hot. If there was one thing he hated, it was watching someone not know how to do something simple.

“I can’t,” Ian answered, sounding sorry.

“Off,” Mickey demanded, voice more bitter, “right now.”

Ian shook his head and kept clicking, unable to make the error stop blinking into their faces.

“I swear to all the saints that I won’t run off, just,” Mickey sucked in painfully, “Hurry and take these off so I can remove the error, jesus, let me remove it before you shut down the drivers or something even more moronic.”

Mickey didn’t realize how tight the wire was until Ian was holding his wrists, a switchblade out of his pocket and he cut it loose. The knife went back underneath his coat and he moved over to let Mickey work.

“You that fast at removing your pants?” Mickey wondered out loud and squeezed his eyes shut, like it physically hurt to say that. This wasn’t friendly chatter anymore. This was a hostage fucking situation and he had to find his way out of it because with each second he spent here, was another second Gallagher could find a way to fuck him over.

Mickey slid onto the couch and worked his magic on the computer. It took him less than five seconds to annihilate what was happening on the screen until his brow furrowed.

“Holy shit, do you ever clean this thing?”

“I mean,”  Ian stuttered, taken back, “I guess I wipe it down with a napkin if I’m thinking about it but-”

“The software,” Mickey snapped, typing away to clear up some of the malware and other shit screwing with the processors. Ian said nothing and watched, dumbfounded, at whatever Mickey was doing. It didn’t take too long to finish what he wanted to do and Mickey sat back, proud that this computer was basically brand new and damage free.

“Looks like I was right,” Ian said next to Mickey, his lips curving up, “You’re good at this stuff.”

The sound of the door shaking had Ian sprinting up from the couch, his hand on Mickey’s forearm, already dragging him into another room. Mickey was shoved into what looked like a bedroom and Ian gave him a pleading look before he shut the door in Mickey’s face.

Mickey was so dumbstruck, he just stood like an idiot in the middle of the dark bedroom without a word. Gallagher obviously didn’t want him making a noise because somebody just waltzed into the apartment unannounced. Mickey could though, he could make noise, and then he could just run the hell out of there. Better yet, he could use his hands now.

Mickey would just whisk his phone from his pocket-

Or that’s where it was supposed to be.

He blinked in confusion. Where was his phone? Where the fuck was his whole goddamn life at?

He could hear muffled laughter from the other side of the door and then a loud “night!” before Ian slipped into the bedroom and locked the door subtly behind him.

“I have to say if it weren’t for the circumstances, I wouldn’t mind being in your goddamn bed,” Mickey said through gritted teeth, unable to resist, “Except you not only took my brothers from me but my phone too? I’m going to be knocking some of those teeth out if it isn’t in my hand in three fucking seconds.”

Ian had a look that told Mickey they both knew, after all their earlier encounters, that Mickey was in no way capable of knocking the detective’s teeth out.

“I can’t risk you doing whatever you do,” Ian rubbed his hands over his pants, “to get out of here.”

“What I do?” Mickey mocked.

“You can do things, stuff with computers and all that, can’t you?”

“It’s called hacking,” Mickey scoffed but let his jaw snap shut soon after. He was doing everything Iggy would hate by mouthing off and giving himself away to this guy.

“Perfect,” Ian cheered, already putting the laptop under his arm on the bed next to them. He went on speaking as if they were old friends who were just meeting up for a cup a joe.

“So, I need you to get into some databases. I’m not really tech savvy-”

“Got that fucking right-”

“But Lip instructed me on how to get into the databases, whatever that means,” he trailed off, pulling up some criminal files. There were locks over the files when Ian clicked on them and he shook his head, sighing.

“Criminal records?” Mickey asked, a little bit, just a fucking little bit, curious.

“The police don’t actually get access to everything like you would think,” Ian went on, as if there was some point he had to make to Mickey before they moved on.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Mickey asked sharply, suddenly fully aware of where he was.

“Look, can you get into these records?” Ian requested, pitch rising in urgency. Mickey cracked a smile and then he barked out a laugh. Ian’s hand flew up to Mickey's mouth at that, silencing him.

“My roommate came back and she’s still awake so please, keep it down.”

When his hand left, Mickey’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me make sure I keep my big fucking mouth shut because I don’t want your roommate to find out you’re keeping a criminal hostage for your own fucked up purpose. And if you try to cover my mouth again we’ll seriously have an issue-”

“It’s pretty sad hearing you call yourself a criminal so casually.”

Mickey’s lips parted in awe at how ridiculous that statement was. Ian looked like he was pitying Mickey, just briefly, and then he pointed his eyes at the laptop again.

“Since these files aren’t nearly as intricate as what you’re used to getting into-”

Mickey grabbed Gallagher’s shirt, chest heaving at how much anger was starting to rise inside of him.

“I am a criminal,” he told him, not breaking the eye contact, “and tonight I might just turn into a killer too.”

“You know how you said I wasn't intimidating? Well, you’re not doing so great with this whole intimidation thing yourself-”

“Jesus fucking christ!” Mickey yelled but the words were drowned out with Ian’s hand on his mouth again. When he saw how much rage was flaring up in Mickey’s eyes however at being cut off, Ian removed his hand.

“I’m just asking for you to get into a few files so I can get a lead to the guys who fucked over my brother,” Ian said, listening by the door for Mandy’s shuffling. There wasn’t any indication she heard Mickey so Ian returned, expression softening when he thought about what was really going on right now. How far he was stooping right now, all because of these fuckers that got Lip involved.

Mickey narrowed his eyes and took that quote in.

“I shot that guy and he’s dead because of me. I did it to save you, fuck,” Ian heard himself saying, his voice cracking. He remembered seeing that man on top of Mickey and it was an impulsive, instinctive, stupid thing to do but his body reacted and he pulled the trigger, not aiming for a safe spot to hurt him, but aiming to kill so that he could prevent the bullet from going to Mickey’s brain. There was no reason to save the hitman but he saw that helplessness on Mickey’s face, the hopelessness that he couldn’t stop seeing when they ran into each other, and he responded to it.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Ian said, mostly to himself, and grabbed at his hair, pulling just enough to shake free from breaking down. He took in a needed breath and blinked back his emotions so he could look Mickey in the eye again.

“What happened with your brother?” Mickey questioned suddenly, completely ignoring everything else. Ian gulped, not really wanting to relive the details, but how else could he get Mickey to help him?

“Those cartels that I’ve been going after,” Ian began, fumbling a bit over his words, “They’re the reason my brother, Lip, is in jail.”

Mickey said nothing and then weirdly enough, he flopped onto Ian’s bed and threw him a more serious look.

“Hand it over,” he barked, eyes on the laptop. Rather than ask for further explanation, Mickey was waiting impatiently, jerking his hand out so Ian would do something.

Ian pushed the laptop into Mickey’s hands and Mickey rested it against his knee that was pressing into Ian’s mattress. He typed away, mouth twitching every few seconds, and then swiveled the laptop back around.

“I cracked the three guys you had on the screen so here you go,” he said dully, face stoic.

“What?” Ian asked dubiously, choosing to sit next to Mickey which seemed to not go over so well with him because he quickly shoved the laptop into Ian’s lap and crossed his arms over his chest.

Ian read over the information pulled up on the screen, drinking in each detail like he would never see it again unless he memorized it right now. There were old street addresses, old records, other names and affiliations, all kinds of things Ian needed. He quickly took a pen and notebook from his nightstand to write everything he deemed important, which was basically everything.

“Chill out, it’s not going anywhere,” Mickey pointed out as Ian scribbled aggressively, almost ripping the paper.

“It’s been months and I’ve had no leads except those cartels but you guys sank those ships-” Ian breathed out, like he was exercising and not writing, and Mickey wondered if he made that pun on purpose or not “-and now this might be something. Way more than just a lead, wow.”

“How about if I kill that roommate of yours?” Mickey wondered suddenly, pondering it like it was a great idea, “maybe you’ll know how it fucking feels to have your family taken hostage in front of your eyes.”

“I already know how it feels,” Ian dismissed, not threatened by the remark.

A quiet settled as Ian kept writing, the pencil marks gradually slowing once he was nearing the end of the files.

“So, you turned into some vigilante for your brother? You trying to get revenge? A detective seeking revenge. . . If that isn’t some basic ass cop show shit right there.”

“If I wanted revenge I would be making sure these guys didn't see another light of day,” Ian told him, unfazed, “but I’m not. I just need to find the guy in charge so I can get the evidence I need to prove Lip is innocent.”

Then Mickey laughed again, not stopping the rippling through his chest and stomach. He fell back and let his arm swing out onto the bed.

“You serious, man? You’re really going around like a goddamn batman so you can break your brother out of jail? Holy shit, that’s new on me. That’s so goddamn funny, man. Hey, why don’t you go ahead and get a cape and tights while you’re at it? Be a little more authentic, will ya?”

Mickey howled at his own joke and Ian shushed him, looking nervous. Mickey stopped laughing and smiled, liking how panicked Ian got just now.

But then Mickey remembered why he was sitting where he is. Ian was actually like batman. He neutralized those guards like it was just another day on the job and he did it without firing a single bullet or really harming them a whole lot for that matter. The only time Ian did shoot was when Mickey was in danger himself. Ian looked so sorry about doing it back then. As soon as the detective realized the man that he shot was was dead, his entire body and face showed how sorry he was.

This bed was like a cloud compared to the piece of brick Mickey normally fell out on. Mickey threw his shoes off and slid up to Ian’s pillows, burying himself, because he was so exhausted physically and emotionally from today. It was weird knowing that he wasn’t going to be woken up in the middle of the night for a job or open his eyes to Iggy saying it was his turn to clean the bar. Nope, he was free from all that tonight. Not that he preferred this little situation with Gallagher either. Well, might as well get a good night’s sleep out of it.

Mickey was more tired than he thought because he was instantly asleep.

 

When Mickey’s eyes cracked open, he was met with faint light from a dimly lit lamp on the other side of Ian’s bed. He turned over, rubbing at his face, and found Ian laying next to him, his back turned away.

Mickey let his eyes wander over that back for a few minutes. Even though this bed was big enough for an entire country to sleep on, it was still odd waking up to another guy sleeping next to you. Never, in all Mickey’s string of fuck buddies, did he wake up to a single one of them.

The muscles of Ian’s back, under his shirt, flexed just a bit as he moved in his sleep. Mickey reached his hand out tentatively and touched Gallagher’s shoulder blades, feeling like a complete creep for doing it, but unable to resist.

Oh, well, damn.

Mickey was hardening in his pants just from touching Gallagher’s back, not even skin, just his shirt.

Gallagher moved then, muttering, and he was turning over, so Mickey recoiled his hand to watch. Ian rubbed at his eyes and blinked at Mickey, clearly still out of it from just waking up.

He looked like he was about to say something but Mickey cut him off by pouncing on him, his hand tangled in that delicious, messy, fucking red hair, his knees pressing into the mattress by the detective’s, straddling him, and their faces now hovering just inches apart.

Ian was about to get himself out of Mickey’s grip, probably thinking this was some kind of tact to black him out, but Mickey already had his hands pinned, and while he wasn’t as strong as Gallagher, the element of surprise could do wonders. After all, it was how Ian had one upped him so many times before.

“Too stupid to tie me back up?” Mickey asked, tightening his grip on Ian’s wrists.

“Too _trusting_ ,” Ian mused back but there was a tiredness to his voice, like he wasn’t all that scared of what was happening.

Trust.

There was that fucking word again, rolling around in Mickey’s head.

“You endangered me and my brothers, asshole. You then take me as a hostage, what a sick joke that is, and force me to start snooping around for some case that has nothing to do with me. How in the hell do you sleep easy next to your hostage, who happens to be a hitman, and have the nerve to brush it off with trust?” Mickey questioned angrily, feeling the tendons in Ian’s wrists loosen.

“I told you that you aren’t a killer, Mickey. And I know you won’t leave-”

“Doesn’t mean I’m still not going to hurt you,” Mickey laughed, like this whole setup was ridiculous, because it really was ridiculous.

Mickey shifted, his erection pressing into Ian’s hip but if Ian noticed, his expression remained unchanged.

“You won’t leave because then you would be leaving your phone behind,” Ian followed up his question simply, like it was basic math.

Mickey blinked down at Ian and those sleep deprived eyes, so drowsy as they stared back at Mickey. Somehow having Ian under him, not batting him off, gave Mickey a sense of power he didn’t normally experience, and seeing the confidence in Ian’s face at his own explanation, got Mickey’s neck warm.

“Since you want so many fucking favors,” Mickey said hotly, leaning further down into Ian’s space, “Might as well go all out.”

He didn’t kiss Ian’s mouth but went for the skin under his ear, nipping it, and then put pressure on it with his lips and teeth.

“What-”

Ian voice got trapped as Mickey pulled the soft spot of flesh between his lips and darted his tongue over it, before returning to suck heavily. He felt Ian move under him and Mickey went harder, liking the feeling of Gallagher so restless and not under control anymore. When Gallagher’s tense body seemed to go limper, Mickey decided to move on, trailing his mouth hungrily over every inch of Ian’s smooth neck, making sure to leave marks and kisses the whole way.

“You’re not so cool headed, not so collected either, asshole,” Mickey smirked, popping open two of the buttons on Ian’s shirt so he could get to his collarbone.

Ian for his part finally found his mind again after the shock and leaned up to grab Mickey’s face, ripping it from his body. Mickey looked puzzled, like why the fuck would Ian even want to stop him, but then Ian, in one quick movement, crashed his lips against Mickey’s.

It was pretty messy, both trying to catch up with the fact that they were kissing but their bodies started going on their own course and Mickey’s hands were grabbing, pulling, and tugging at every strand in Ian’s hair while Ian’s own hands were running down Mickey’s back and sides, to his waist and hips.

“I don’t kiss,” Mickey tried to say between Ian pressing their faces and lips closer and closer but Ian went further, muttering aggressively back against Mickey’s mouth.

“Should’ve thought about that before you started this,” he growled into Mickey’s throat, pulling Mickey by his hips so that he was more on top of him.

Mickey bit Ian’s lower lip to show him he _was_ the one who started this and he was going to be the goddamn one to finish it. Mickey’s breath was getting deeper when Ian’s fingers dipped up under his shirt and held him there, like he wanted to make sure Mickey didn’t lose balance during their make out.

That bubbling desire shot up in Mickey’s body when he could feel how tight his jeans were seeming to get and how he was practically rippling under Ian’s dancing fingertips over his ribs, beneath his shirt. He mistakenly let out a gasp in Ian’s mouth to which Ian shoved his tongue into Mickey’s throat as if to say he was assuming that sound meant he wanted more.

Breathless, Mickey pushed Ian down into the pillow, hands still playing with all the silk of the detective’s hair, and let his own tongue slide out across Ian’s.

They both struggled for dominance and Ian ultimately won because he turned Mickey over so that he was on top, pinning Mickey under him.

Hell no, this was not how this was playing out, Mickey thought, and shoved Ian off of him, jerking his knees back over him, pivoting Ian down with as much strength as he could until he was topping again. Ian seemed not too shocked by the turn around and finally stopped putting effort into their silent argument. Instead he let his hand travel up Mickey’s spine, scraping his nails lightly over the indents of Mickey’s flesh and bone.

Mickey sucked in and backed off a centimeter so their lips weren’t as connected which gave Ian the chance to start tugging Mickey’s shirt up. Too in heat to even deny Ian what he wanted, Mickey let himself be undressed, all too ready for whatever Ian was going to do to him.

That is until there was a tapping on the closed door of the room.

Both of them stopped and met eyes, like that dreamy bubble they were living in just got popped.

“Fuck,” Ian said, getting Mickey off of him and buttoning his shirt up.

“Get under the bed or something, hurry,” Ian commanded lowly, racing to the door.

Mickey blinked, mind clicking with what was going on and then he snorted. Why the hell did he care if someone caught him in Ian’s room? If anything, this was his chance to get out.

“You’ll never see your phone again,” Ian mouthed, voice hardly audible as his hand touched the doorknob.

Mickey whipped his head around, eyebrows raising as if what he heard was supposed to have been real fucking funny except Mickey missed the punch line. 

“Please,” Ian begged, going with another tact, and of course that should have made Mickey laugh but he ended up moving off Gallagher's bed and dropping to the respective hidden side of it. Ian opened the door.

“Hey, Ian, sorry it’s so late," a female voice said, sounding croaky.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Ian asked, voice so gentle and worried, like he wasn’t about to fucking get it on with Mickey moments ago.

“It was just another nightmare,” the girl said, her voice shaking, and then she took in a deep breath. “You know, with my dad and all.”

“Sorry, Mandy,” Ian told her, so honest, and then there was a quiet. They must have been hugging or kissing, something really sappy, Mickey thought in disgust, until it registered why that voice sounded so familiar. He blinked, knuckles whitening and then the girl spoke again.

“Is it okay if I stay in here tonight?”

Ian didn’t answer right away but he didn’t have to because Mickey shot up from where he was hiding, eyes livid.

Mandy shrieked, seeing Mickey behind Ian’s head across the room, and Ian turned around instinctively. Mickey cracked his knuckles and walked forward, mouth twitching.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss fucking America herself,” Mickey hissed, getting closer.

“Mick?” Mandy spluttered, her eyeballs going out of the sockets.

Ian looked between them and kept his hand on the door frame, to keep himself steady and protect Mandy.

“So you ran away to play house with this joker, did you? Living the white picket fence dream, sis?” Mickey glowered, blue eyes wild. He said the word ‘sis’ like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Mandy stepped back.

“What the hell would you care? You wanted to get out too and you’re just pissed that I did!”

“Thanks to who?” Mickey laughed and when nobody answered he pointed a finger at his own chest. “Thanks to fucking me, Mandy! You used my shit to get away!”

“I tried to take you with me!” Mandy yelled, eyes watering. “I told you to come with me but you didn’t!”

“You know that’s because I can’t get the fuck out!” Mickey shouted back, shoving Ian aside so he could get in his sister’s face. Ian was stunned just for a few seconds before he jerked Mickey away from her.

“Watch yourself,” Ian glared, inserting himself between them.

“You get between me and my sister again Gallagher and you won’t-”

“Stop,” Mandy said, voice failing her. Mickey was about to go at it again but she cut him off. “Mickey, stop for one second. It’s been two years since we saw each other and that’s all you have to say to me?”

“All I have to-” Mickey paused to laugh again, “Seriously? Am I supposed to jump into the fucking arms of the bitch who stole all my shit and left me to deal with that iron fist piece of garbage? Give me a fucking break!”

Mandy fled back and sat on the couch, covering her face.

“Why is my brother in your room?” she asked Ian, coming to a realization. Her eyes were puffy and reddening but her voice was calm now.

“Uh-” Ian stopped and went to sit at her side so he could comfort her. His mind was still wrapping around everything.

“Oh yeah, let’s have a nice discussion about it,” Mickey barked, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “About how queen bitch ran off with my old phone, which had everything on it, and how now she’s living with the fucker who almost got Iggy and Colin killed, oh and how about-”

“I didn’t almost get them killed,” Ian defended hotly, standing up.

Mickey stared at him and there was a quiet as he thought about Ian bandaging Iggy’s leg and nestling Colin against the wall instead of leaving him with the other corpses. How Ian saved Mickey’s life and how he killed a man to do it. Mickey hated it because he didn’t want to owe this detective anything, especially not his life.

“We’re all kind of confused so let’s just have some coffee or something, shit,” Ian said wearily, ruffling his hair.

Only seconds ago, Mickey had his fingers all over that red hair.

“Yeah, let’s talk, Milkovich’s are really good at doing that,” Mickey mocked, looking now at Mandy who seemed to be sinking further into the sofa from his hard gaze.

“Milkovich? Mandy’s last name is Snickers,” Ian replied slowly and Mickey’s eyebrows shot up at the speed of light but not before he burst out into hard, uncanny laughing.

“Are you fucking serious?” he broke out, pointing at her and wheezing. Mandy stood up now, arms over her chest.

“You always liked snickers bars and since I screwed you over it was all I could do to amend, in your honor,” she admitted, blushing.

“Oh, great, thanks, I’m glad you made up for our bad blood by changing your last name to my favorite candy bar. That’s really a classic move there, dumb ass,” Mickey gasped, trying to stop the laughter but it kept slipping out.

Mandy seemed hurt but she ended up bubbling up into giggles too. She crossed the space between her and her brother and started hitting him. Then they were wrestling, like they didn't just get into an argument, which completely through Ian off.

Ian stared at them, unsure of what was happening, and then he made his way to the kitchen to brew up some coffee. 

What the hell did he just do to the universe by taking Mickey Milkovich hostage?


	6. One Storm After Another

“So, it’s like I said, I was planning to come back for you,” Mandy explained again, gesturing wildly with her hands. Mickey just watched, his earlier rage calming, because really, this whole situation was fucking weird.

Not only did this night start off with a heist gone wrong, horribly wrong, because detective Ian Gallagher wanted to play hero for his brother, who was locked up in prison somewhere and apparently not guilty for it, but now Mickey, a hitman, who wasn’t really much of a hitman if you were counting actual hits, was being held here against his will by said detective and to top it off he was making up for lost time with the detective's roommate, Mickey's runaway sister, who changed her name so she could restart her life away from their fucked up family.

“Where’s my old phone?” Mickey interrupted her and Mandy’s jaw tightened.

“Uh, well, I sort of left it over at my boyfriend’s house-”

“I’m sorry,” Mickey smiled, a threatening smile, “What did you say?”

“I spent the night a few days ago and just kind of left it. It’s no big deal, I was going to pick it up tomorrow night when I go over there-”

“No big deal?” Mickey asked, scratching his face and laughing under his breath, “No big deal, huh? It’s not like there’s information about every fucking hit we’ve done, oh let me rephrase that, I’ve done-” he stopped and laughed again before continuing, “Not to mention the cops, gangs all over the fucking city, shit that would get me stoned on the street if it was found. It’s cool though, you know, it’s not like it fucking matters if some asshole gives it to the cops and basically this city will be turned the fuck inside out.”

“He won’t do that,” Mandy replied quickly, “Besides, you have that code on it, idiot. Me and you are the only ones who can-”

“I’m the only one. It’s fucking mine, get that through your fucking thick ass skull, you stupid bitch,” he flared up again and then they were bickering like before.

Ian slid two fresh cups of coffee on the table and sat down with the notes he got thanks to Mickey. He read over them, trying to pick out what he could start with.

“You want to go there?” Mandy screamed, shoving Mickey backwards. “Remember when dad tried to throw boiling water at your face and I stopped him? I had it rough too!”

“Yeah? I’m the one who kept slipping food to the fucking rottweilers so they wouldn’t be hungry for the times dad threatened to release them on your ass! Didn’t know about that, did you, bitch?”

Ian perked up at where this conversation was steering and his jaw dropped.

“No, I didn’t,” Mandy said, voice dying.

“I need that fucking phone, Mandy. I wiped my identity and yours but that doesn’t mean they can’t trace us back if they find all the shit on it,” Mickey breathed out roughly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mandy exhaled and then she ruffled her long hair between her fingers, dropping her hands. “I’ll go get it tonight.”

“Not fucking alone, you aren’t.”

“Really, how sweet, Mickey,” Mandy mocked, “I think I can handle it.”

“Like how you handled it last time? I don’t think so. That phone is going straight to my pocket,” Mickey glared.

“You guys want some coffee? It’s getting cold,” Ian said, trying to make himself heard but Mickey kept talking.

“What the fuck did you keep it for anyways, huh? What the fuck went through that tiny brain that made you say - hey this is a good plan, let’s make sure we take everything Mickey’s built over the years so he’s left to start over! - what the fuck brought that on?”

“I thought you would be better off,” Mandy shot back, scratching the skin on her arm, “I thought maybe if you didn’t have all that, you would be better off. You know, you wouldn’t be expected to do everything all the time and know everything. Maybe, you wouldn’t be treated like shit anymore if I took everything away.”

“And it worked out real fucking great,” Mickey glowered but he sounded less angry, almost shocked at what he just heard.

“Want some sugar or something? Cream? Is it not strong enough?” Ian wondered dully from where he was perched.

Mandy sensed him finally and immediately picked the mug up to sip on it. She hummed happily and gave him a thumbs up.

“It’s perfect, Ian.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, come on,” Mickey told Mandy, going straight for the door. Mandy nodded and set the mug back down, giving Ian an apologetic gaze before she followed her brother.

“We have to take the train,” Mandy blurted nervously.

She winced as soon as her brother whipped his head around.

“Are you dicking around, right now? I told you about that shit. Public transportation, public fucking cameras, Mandy.”

“I know,” she sighed, “I just, I can’t drive and I know it’s not good to be under surveillance but-”

“Stop.”

They both looked up and Ian was walking to the door now, gathering his coat and keys.

“Let me get this straight,” he said tiredly, looking between them. “You’re both from a family of hitman but Mandy managed to get away and Mickey didn’t. Mandy took your phone that had a bunch of stuff on it that the authorities or some rival mob, some shit I don’t know, people can’t find it-” he settled for, clearing his throat, and neither sibling stopped him so he went on, “And you don’t want Mandy riding the train because you shouldn’t have your face filmed, right? Man, you guys sure are paranoid.”

“Cautious,” Mandy mumbled at the same time Mickey said, “-Not stupid as fuck.”

“Okay, whatever,” Ian dismissed and shut the door to their apartment, locking it up. He went down the stairs, followed by the Milkovich’s but Mickey stopped in front of his car.

“The fuck you doing, Gallagher?”

“What? You wanted to walk six miles?” Ian asked lazily, hopping into the car. Mandy jumped on shotgun as Mickey squinted at them through the glass of the window. He finally came around into the back seat.

“Thanks, Ian,” Mandy smiled as he backed out of the parking lot.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on here, or well, I don’t want to know,” Ian said carefully, turning onto the empty street, “But if it’s for you, Mandy, I’ll do it.”

“Found a real good lapdog,” Mickey grumbled, eyes out the window now.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Ian. We’re just going to get the phone and that’s all.”

There was a quiet and then Mickey laughed.

“You _do_ know that lover boy here was forcing me to do his fucking work for him? You sure he isn’t a fucking maniac?”

Mandy glanced at Ian, waiting for some explanation because it was true, she still didn’t know why Mickey was in their apartment in the first place.

“I thought you came for revenge or something, Mickey,” Mandy admitted and Mickey snorted.

“If I really cared about where the fuck you went, I would have found you by now. I just decided to start over on another device because I thought you might be smart enough to destroy the old one.”

“I’m glad you gave so many fucks about me,” Mandy shot, turning around in the seat.

“Well, I didn’t,” Mickey grimaced, not meeting her fiery stare.

“I ran into Mickey when I was researching about how to break Lip out,” Ian began. He turned a quick corner and slowed the car back down. Mickey put his shoes up on Ian’s seat, pushing it a bit.

“Researching? Yeah, that’s what it’s called these days.”

“And I realized Mickey had to be pretty good at computers and stuff, because he broke out of jail, so I asked if he could help me out with Lip.”

“Asked me?” Mickey chuckled in disbelief, leaning up so he was putting weight on Ian’s seat. “You fucking took me in against my will, asshole.”

“You did?” Mandy inquired, shocked. There was a tense silence before she laughed and pushed Ian’s shoulder lightly. “Good job, Ian.”

“What the fuck-”

“So,” Ian continued, “Mickey broke into some files on a few guys who were involved with what happened to Lip. I haven’t decided who to visit first on the list.”

“By visit, you mean beat the shit out of and tie up for questioning?” Mickey asked, dangling his arm by Ian’s head.

“What? Ian?’ Mandy piped up, drawing the sound of his name out like it was foreign. Mickey stared at her hardly.

“What? Didn’t know? He’s been beating the shit out of people to find out what happened to that brother of his. Hey, pretty heroic, isn’t it? Hope this doesn’t put a damper on your fucking roommate agreement or whatever.”

“Shut up,” Ian snapped and then he pulled into a driveway and shut down the engine.

All of them sat in the quiet of the car for a minute but as soon as Mickey was about to get out, Mandy stopped him.

“I’m going. He’ll freak out if he sees me with another guy.”

“Sounds like a real fucking catch as usual,” Mickey growled, falling back into his seat. She shut the door on them and ran up to the house they were parked in front of. Mickey stayed where he was, arm by Ian’s face, his eyes now on that face too. A slight smirk made it's way over his lips and he inched a little further into Ian's space.

“Do you fuck all the guys you bring home or just the ones on the wanted posters?”

Ian turned his head to reply but he didn’t when he saw how close Mickey’s face was to his own. He squinted at him and broke the eye contact.

“Shit, that was-” he shook his head, unable to even come up with an excuse for that little make out in the apartment earlier.

“Sure fucking was,” Mickey helped him out, smirking more.

“We didn’t even fuck,” Ian defended, sounding childish.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. As soon as I get this phone, I’m fucking out of here. Whenever you decide to give me my other phone though, that would be just fucking fantastic,” Mickey snarled, leaning back into his own seat again.

“Well, you did get me some stuff to work with for Lip,” Ian muttered, weighing out his options. He really should drive Mickey down to the station because letting him go meant letting a dangerous man out on the streets. But, he did promise Mickey that he would let him off the hook after he did his share and Mickey did do what Ian asked of him.

“If I had a dollar for every time someone got me to do their fucking dirty work and threw-”

Mickey stopped his sentence and swallowed, obviously not meaning to say whatever he was about to. Ian waited but it was silent so he turned in the seat, gripping the back to get a good look at Mickey.

“Then what?”

Mickey glued his eyes on the window. He looked like a child, stuck in the backseat of a car who just wanted to go home.

“Then what, Mickey?”

“Can you shut your goddamn mouth? I can see why you and Mandy get along. She doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up either.”

“Then they throw you aside?” Ian questioned in a low voice. He wasn’t sure why he said it but something in Mickey’s hunched shoulders and scrunched up face told him that his guess was right.

“Mandy gets really bad nightmares all about the past. I don’t know much because she doesn’t talk about it but she says most of them involve her dad. Well, I guess your dad too,” Ian mumbled, watching Mickey’s huddled up form. He then added, “Even though you seem like a complete asshole-”

Mickey’s eyes darted at that and Ian laughed, “I think you’re still a person. Whatever you do with your brothers, I can tell that you don’t really like it. I also picked up on some stuff you and Mandy were saying. You can’t get out, that’s what you said, isn’t it? You’re stuck doing a bunch of shitty jobs when you really just want to start over?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey glowered, leaning up, “No, fuck you. Don’t try that psychology bullshit on me. You think you're some kind of Dr. Fucking Phil? There are three kinds of cops,” he started, opening and closing his mouth slowly like Ian would miss a beat if he didn’t keep up.

“The fat ass cops who eat doughnuts and wear the uniform so they can catch punks on the street. They get the badge to bully people weaker than them for fun," he growled, eyes widening, "Then you have the asshole cops who just want to lock everyone up and if it were up to them they would bring back the fucking Hammurabi code.”

Mickey’s mouth twitched as he inched closer to Ian.

“Then you got guys like you out there and you’re the worst of them. You want to make us all think we’re just a little bit broken and after a good kick in the ass we’ll hopefully make our amends on the bible in prison, do our time and learn from our mistakes. You want to see the good in everyone but pretending that we aren’t just bat shit crazy is what gets you. You hesitate to kill us and you’re as good as dead.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about yourself,” Ian murmured boldly. “You didn’t shoot me back at that cartel because you couldn’t. I think you won’t take a life because you have your own morals, don’t you?”

“In your fucking dreams,” Mickey answered darkly. “I don’t have morals because I don’t need them. I just do the job-”

“We both know that’s not true,” Ian said softly. That seemed to shut the debate down because Mickey was just looking at him quizzically, like what Ian said wasn’t even a possibility.

Then their little stare off was interrupted by the whizzing of bullets, popping off the hood of the car. The shots were coming from in front of them and the firing shattered whatever peace was in this neighborhood tonight.

Mickey was on the floor faster than Ian, already reaching behind him to pull out his nonexistent fucking gun. Ian reacted second, ducking into his seat and grabbed his gun from inside of his coat, cocking it, waiting for the bullets to stop.  

“So, Mandy’s boyfriend, huh? What a fucking guy!” Mickey shouted over the sound, almost laughing.

“Never met him!” Ian shouted back, grinding his teeth together.

The bullets cooled off, leaving an eerie quiet in it’s place and Mickey was so pissed that he was stuck unarmed right now, being shot at by a maniac, in the backseat of another maniac’s car.

“Gallagher, if you don’t shoot this motherfucker-”

“Shut the hell up, I’m handling it,” Ian countered, leaning up over the steering wheel to get a shot. When he got a clear view of the man standing at the door, he was reloading his gun, Ian aimed at his shoulder. Before he fired the bullet, the man looked up, and Ian stopped cold.

Then the man seemed to be short on time or something because he fled into the house, leaving Ian dumbstruck in his seat.

“Oh my god, Gallagher! Give me the fucking thing!”

“That was one of the guys in the database, one of the guys you cracked,” Ian breathed out and he flew out of the car. Mickey crinkled his nose and went after him, running straight into the house because at this point nothing could get much crazier.

They could hear crashing in the back of the house and then a slammed door. Ian raced through the dark house, keeping his head turning for anything dangerous. He reached the back door and busted it open, raising his gun to the sound of screeching tires.

Ian shot out at the car when he saw Mandy banging on the back glass, his aim on the tires, but the car was already heading way down the street, too far to hit. Cursing madly, he raced back inside and across the house to get back to the front door but Mickey stopped him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Gallagher?”

“Move! He took Mandy!”

“Wha-”

Ian shoved Mickey aside and ran outside to get into the car but when he tried to rev the engine up, the car did nothing. Ian frantically tried igniting again but the car just coughed, the battery completely gone.

“What the hell!” Ian shouted, slamming his palms against the steering wheel. He sat there, mind racing on what to do when a tap at the window made him jump.

“Yo,” Mickey greeted, gesturing for him to open up. Ian flung the door open in a fit, barely missing Mickey’s knee, and glowered up at him.

“I found it,” Mickey smirked, flipping a dingy looking smartphone in his hand, tossing it up and catching it like it was a kid’s toy.

“He took Mandy, Mickey,” Ian hissed out, shoving Mickey backwards and stepping out of the car. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I need to call the police on this asshole.”

“You are the police, dumb ass,” Mickey sighed and swiped over his new found treasure. “Hey, looks like Mandy didn’t ruin this thing at least. Most of the shit is still on it.”

“Do you give a shit about anything but your fucking phone?” Ian yelled, so angry that he was considering punching Mickey to get it over with.

“While you stand there and look pretty,” Mickey gruffed out, “I’m actually doing something fucking useful. Ah, look at that, the kidnapper’s car coordinates.”

“What?”

“Looks like your piece of shit couldn’t last much longer,” Mickey coughed out, glancing at the dead car. “No worries, we can steal something better.”

“I’m calling the cops. This is my best friend,” Ian decided, taking out his phone now. Mickey swiped it and backed up.

“It’s also my sister. No cops, you hear me? Never tell me you’re calling the cops again or we’re done here.”

“Done? Some psycho just took your sister-”

“Exactly,” Mickey chuckled, “He won’t last one second with my sister. You think she played with dolls and tea cups back at South Side? Get a grip.”

“She was banging on the back window of the car, Mickey!”

“Attention whore, her usual act,” Mickey shrugged, tapping away on the dirty smartphone. “Hey, she downloaded Tetris, not bad taste if you like wasting brain cells.”

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Ian said, reaching around to grab his own phone back but Mickey easily moved from the advance, eyes still lowered.

“Here we go,” he said coolly, finally taking Ian’s hand into his own, looking up. “Chill the fuck out, man. If you get those stupid ass uniforms involved, they’ll take this guy in, the guy that’s connected to your brother might I remind you, and then that’s one less chance of getting him out, right? Cool your fucking tits.”

“I’m not risking Mandy’s life for this shit,” Ian snapped and Mickey hushed him as he typed away, soothingly stroking his thumb over Ian’s palm.

“I don’t know how Mandy’s dumb ass always gets involved with these underground bastards. I think I did a hit on one of them once, back in high school-”

“Yeah, tell me your life story while Mandy gets raped and slashed up by this guy-”

“You must be a riot to be around at parties,” Mickey snorted, still rubbing circles over Ian’s hand. After a few minutes, Mickey lit up.

“So, this guy is another drug lord, go figure, tied together to those other guys you and me messed around with. This is probably some stupid shit where they take Mandy and expect my family to go save her. Then they trap us so we stop taking hits on them. It’s so basic, so boring.”

“I thought you two were off the grid,” Ian interjected. Mickey glanced up at him.

“We are. It doesn’t mean they don’t have guys who can do what I do. Not very effectively but enough to find out we’re Milkovich through and through.”

“So, what now?” Ian asked, anger subsiding because Mickey was somehow keeping him calm.

“Well, I guess we can go get Mandy if you want. I mean, I think she’s kind of a bitch but you seem to like her so let’s go.”

They met eyes and Mickey laughed, dropping Ian’s hand before he was waltzing down the street, searching the block. He strolled up to an empty car parked on the side and typed away on his phone, waiting for the sound of the car unlocking to ring out and bring a smile to his face.

“You coming, detective?” Mickey called out, leaning on the car, pointing to the driver’s seat. “If I drive we won’t be stopping at any red lights and I know how much of a good cop you are so, Jesus take the wheel and all that.”

Ian bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. So far Mickey seemed to know what the fuck was going on better than he did, that cocky bastard wasn’t losing his shit at all. It infuriated him and kept him calm all together. Then Mickey mentioned Lip and how this was Ian’s chance and unfortunately Mickey did know Mandy better than him.

If Ian called the cops, he could be putting all of them at risk for a nice sentence. He finally sucked in a deep breath and ran up to slide in the driver’s seat.

Mickey took the passenger's side and smirked at him, put his shoes up on the dashboard and typed on the phone eagerly.

“Start this sucker and I’ll be your navigator, captain.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ian sighed under his breath, so worn out from getting almost no sleep and having one storm after another tonight that he just hit the pedal and drove out, listening to wherever Mickey told him to go.


End file.
